Plight Thee My Troth
by Gingerandgreen
Summary: England, 1795. Lord Edward Masen and Miss Isabella Swan promise to love one another for all time; but will the harsh realities of life allow two souls from very different backgrounds to fulfil their vows? EPOV, AH
1. Prologue  The Wedding

A/N I am very excited to post my first WiP on . This story has been written with great respect for Stephenie Meyer, who wrote a story of true love which captured our hearts. I am dedicating the prologue to my friends ilovealion, melmelee03, BellaScotia1 and Careds4 – they know why, and if they don't they ought to think about it! I would like to thank my lovely and dedicated beta Perrymaxwell; and pre-reader Careds4. You are both so special to me. Any mistakes are mine alone. This story is as true to the period as I can make it, but some compromises in forms of address have been made. Ask me in a review if you aren't sure about anything. ).().().().().().().().().().().().( Prologue G&G

_6__th__ April 1795_

The vicar indicates that we are to pray, and for the last time before she is my wife, I take Isabella's gloved hand in mine and help her lower herself to her knees. She does not look at me, but bows her head, mumbling her response to the puffed up little man in his ridiculous collar lording it over the congregation and us.

A strand of her untameable hair has worked itself loose from her bonnet. I long to pick it up and smooth it back into place. It obscures the porcelain cheek, for once free of its customary blush, that my fingers itch to stroke. Soon.

A long prayer and then a longer moment of silence to contemplate our sins. In this church we follow this fool's rules. I know the extent of his designs on Isabella. He is a friend to her father, but not rich enough for him. Thank God. His bitterness causes him to punish us with prolonged prayer in the icy air before the Lord's altar.

Isabella's head remains bowed. I wonder what she prays for.

My own prayer is one of gratitude. _Thank you, Father, for delivering this beautiful woman to me. Grant me the wisdom to be the husband she requires. Amen_.

My knees ache as the cold stone pushes into them. Finally, we are bid to rise, and Isabella's elbow presses into my hand as she does so. Her grace astonishes me, as always. Growing up in a household with no mother or sisters, attending school, reading law at Cambridge, running my estate – nothing has prepared me for the world of women. Though I've befriended a few – and some intimately - they remain exotic creations to me – dolls, delicate dolls who may smash against the hardness of life at any moment.

A bolt of fear twists in my gut as I speak my vows.

"_I, Edward Anthony Masen, take thee, Isabella Marie Swan, to my lawful wedded Wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till __death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."_

My voice catches a little on 'til death do us part' which embarrasses me, but other than that I think I sound firm and confident. I have heard these vows recited countless times, but it wasn't until I learned them for this day that I thought about their significance.

I pray once more, '_Dear Lord, make me worthy to be the husband of this woman_.' I glance again at my bitter rival and know in my bones that if nothing else, I am more worthy than he.

He looks at my bride, hope still licking around his eyes and mouth, even now. He disgusts me.

"_I, Isabella Marie Swan, take thee, Edward Anthony Masen, to my lawful wedded Husband. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."_

Isabella's vows ring out, quiet but as clear as a cowbell at dawn. She still hasn't made eye contact with me. Is she afraid?

Her sister rises to remove her glove, and my brother offers me her ring. My voice is thick as I take her cool fingers and reverently place the gold band there.

"_With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."_

I have made her mine.

Suddenly, I feel triumphant.

She looks at me at last. Her eyes shine with held back tears, but she looks at me adoringly. I feel the intensity of the unnamed pull between us that has been there since the first time I took her hand in mine and kissed it. My lips smile their adoration back at her. My sweet, sweet china doll.

Outside the church, family and friends gather to throw rice and wave us on our way. The coach looks resplendent, I must remember to thank Jacob. He has done me proud.

My wife curtseys to her father. Ignorant man – he least deserves her respect. He pats her on the head and I notice the tiny flinch she makes as his meaty hand approaches her.

I watch her place her hand in her mother's, who pats her gently, absent-mindedly even. Something inside Wren is broken; she is not fully present in her mind. Before I can stop myself, I hope it is not something that runs in the family.

Sir Charles shakes my hand, slaps me on the back. He makes some trifling comment, and I respond in kind. I bow to Wren and watch my Isabella cry a few tears in her sister's arms. I momentarily feel guilt for insisting we leave before the breakfast; but as I look around me at the pinched faces of Isabella's family, I know I was right.

Jasper watches from the lee of the church. He nods at me and smiles wryly as the vicar accosts him. It won't be the first time he has been used as a sounding post by the pompous would-be mentor. I am grateful for my brother's gentle nature as he leads the fool away from me.

I stagger on my feet as Rose's husband comes forward to slap me on the back too. I can't help my grin as Em and I embrace. It is a physical business, this getting married.

I want to be away. I want my wife to myself, and we have a long journey ahead of us. Our first night as man and wife will be at an inn. I won't consummate our marriage there, but to have this exquisite creature all to myself in a room of our own excites me beyond measure. I have to get away.

I cock my eyebrow at my wife – are you ready? She understands me and obediently pulls away from arms and hands and walks to my side. We wave and pull and trip our way to the coach.

As I help her in, the wind picks up, and a squall of April rain descends. The ladies and gentlemen disperse, seeking shelter in the church and their coaches, but the village children remain. I reach into my pocket and bring out a bag of coins specially prepared for the occasion. The joy and avarice on their faces as they scramble in the dirt - in truth - is reflected in my heart.

My joy at being married is great, and my avarice for the promised delights of the state tightens my trousers around my girth.

I climb into the coach laughing, and my beauty laughs with me. I reach up and slap the roof, and we are off.

So our adventure begins.

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End note: I hope to become a better writer by hearing what you think. Please will you press review and tell me? Any message, long or short, is very welcome. Thank you! I will post the first chapter in a week, and after that I aim to post one chapter a fortnight. Catch you then. 


	2. Chapter 1  We Are Gathered Here Today

**Written with great respect for Stephenie Meyer who gave us the story that touched our hearts.**

**Thanks beyond measure to Perry Maxwell and Cared, who make everything better. Huge hugs and thanks also to ilovealion and everyone else who spread the word about my story.**

_**A note on forms of address: in this time period, the eldest unmarried daughter of a gentleman was referred to by 'Miss + surname'; younger daughters, 'Miss + first name + surname'. Miss Swan is Rose. For the period purists, I'm sorry, but I had to make some compromises when it came to addressing the men for the sake of the story.**_

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**Chapter 1 – We are gathered here today**

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29th December 1794

Emanuel,

Forgive my brief reply to your last, but be pleased to know that this letter brings to you my acquiescence to your request. I must attend to obligations here at Forbrigg until the 2nd, but will set off for Seat as early as possible on the 3rd. Please convey my sincerest regards to your father and tell him that if he drops dead before I make it there, he will eventually answer to me in the hereafter. I will come by stage but will travel straight through, so expect me on the evening of the 4th.

Your friend,

Edward

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_5th__ January 1795_

"Em, your horse is fat."

"What? No, Masen. I think you'll find your legs have shrunk. Too much riding of another kind puts you out of practice for horse riding." The buffoon laughs at his own low humour until he almost dislodges himself from the saddle.

My mood, however, is sour.

"Tell me something of these people you forced me out of my bed to meet, so horribly early in my visit."

"Oh, Edward. The fairest beauties your jaded London eyes could bear to encounter. You will thank me; I guarantee it. In fact, if I don't have your thanks in writing within a week of your departure, I will give you my fat horse."

"This same fat horse my legs have grown too short for?"

"The very one. Come, man, I'll race you there. Give Archie a little exercise." And he kicks off, galloping across the hilly fields, hollering and waving his hat in the air.

If I don't want to get lost, Archie and I will have to sprint to keep up with the oaf.

The grass is still crisply frosted, and the sun glints and glares into my aching eyes. I had a long journey to reach Cullen House and travelled straight through the night, due to the urgent tone of Emanuel's letter. When I arrived shortly after ten in the evening, he felt it his solemn duty to ply me with enough brandy to fell a horse.

Had I known he would have me up and out of the house this early, I would not have partaken. Horse riding does nothing helpful for a pounding head like mine.

The landscape here is so different to that of Norfolk. The trees are bare, and the horizon is continually blocked from view by rise after rise after rise. Hedgerows further obscure the land, and we jump styles and boulders and gullies so often, I am surprised the horse has any fat at all.

My thighs are beginning to ache as much as my head.

The fresh air does do me some good, however, and when I catch up with Em as we crest another hill, he turns towards me, laughing and egging me on. This is a mistake. Just over the crest, two young ladies in winter shawls and boots stand so close to us as we thunder past, it's a wonder they are not knocked over by the draft.

It takes minutes to rein our excited mounts in, and when we reel them around, we are both surprised to see the ladies still standing where we left them, seemingly frightened into stone.

We dismount and stride towards them, apparently of one mind. But as we approach, Em's enthusiastic greeting drowns out my call of apology and concern.

"Goddesses of the Manor!" he booms, "Did we frighten you?"

I eye him with astonishment. He bows, then reaches to kiss the hands, first of the taller girl with fair hair and a delighted smile, then the more cautious, auburn doll who stands by her side.

"Ladies, may I introduce my friend and second cousin? This is Lord Masen of Forbrigg, in Norfolk. You may have heard me mention him." He winks at the smaller of the pair. "Edward, these here are the beauties I was telling you about. May I present Miss Swan," he offers me the opportunity to approach the fair-headed girl, with a somewhat proprietary air.

As I doff my hat, bow, and kiss her hand, I watch Em's antics from the corner of my eye. He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and rather crudely, given the company he we're in. I take this to mean he has boasted of my accomplishments and wealth to the ladies already, which annoys me.

He knows I want to make my own conquests. In time – all in good time.

"And this is her lovely sister, Miss Isabella Swan."

When I take the hand of the younger Miss Swan, his clowning and my annoyance cease to exist.

She truly is beautiful. Her eyes are large and round and deep, their rich brown intensity evaluating my very soul, at least this is how it seems. Strands of her hair fall all around her face as though unwilling to be trapped by her simple bonnet. Her skin is both pale and very flushed, and her expression is serious as I press my lips to her gloved hand.

"Miss Isabella," I murmur, and she breathes back,

"Lord Masen."

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We are invited to join the ladies in their constitutional, and Em's obvious interest in the older Miss Swan is, shall we say, advanced?

I am very happy to oblige the party by walking at Miss Isabella Swan's side. Archie ambles along, docile beside us. We both begin to speak at the same time, and our false overlapping starts make us smile.

Her smile is peaceful and blazing, like sunlight. I am struck by it and cannot look away. She must think me a strange fellow.

She asks if I am enjoying my stay at the Cullen residence.

"I begin to enjoy it immensely," I say, watching Em stoop to pick up a stone and throw it as far as his reach will allow. I think he is trying to release his tightly wound energy: walking as close as he is to the beauty by his side, I imagine there are other ways he would prefer to release himself, and I want to laugh at him.

"How long have you and your sister been acquainted with my cousin?" I ask.

"We stumbled across him last summer. We have known the elder Mr Cullen for some time, being close neighbours, but young Mr Cullen was too often away. We literally stumbled across him, walking through this field. He'd come out for a ride and stopped to take in the view. He must have fallen asleep in the grass. His horse had wandered a little. Rose tripped over his boot." She laughs. I feel her laughter echo low down in my gut. It's a strange feeling; it makes me laugh too.

"I hope your sister was unharmed."

"Between you and I, Lord Masen, I think she was, but she had Mr Cullen believing her ankle was injured. We had to rest a while and enjoy the sunshine, and then he carried her home. He was most gallant. Quite the romantic hero." We both laugh again while I picture Em's enthusiastic rescue in my mind.

"He must have carried her quite a distance. I don't see any residence, and the view is far reaching."

"Oh no, you are mistaken. Look this way." She places her hand lightly on my arm to redirect me, and I feel her touch through my heavy coat. To the right at the bottom of the hill a walled garden comes into view. At the far end, I make out the corner of a large, red brick house. "Seat Manor, just over there. Do you see?"

I do see. We stop and contemplate the view as Archie grazes quietly behind us. He is a very amiable beast. Miss Swan's hand remains on my arm. I don't want to move and break the spell. "I see the distance is not so great, for a romantic hero as large as our mutual friend. But why didn't he sit her on his mount? That would have been the logical solution, surely."

"Indeed," she smiles.

My morning sourness has quite dissolved. Our journey continues pleasantly, and we soon reach a gate into the walled garden, behind which a boy appears, confidently reaching for the horses' reins as Em slips a coin into his hand. A regular occurrence, I surmise. Interesting. Em has kept this very quiet.

We are to accompany the ladies into the house for morning refreshments. The garden path I am led along winds through an orchard, across a lawn, and through a formal herb garden before we reach a paved area adjoining the house. Honeysuckle grows rampantly up one wall and threatens to overtake the glass windows through which I spy a servant studying us before whirling away.

French doors open, and a girl bobs out and curtseys.

"Alice, tell Wren we are here, will you? And ask Johnson to inform Father we have a Lord Masen come to see him." Miss Swan turns to me and smiles in apology. "My father will not approve our meeting with no formal introduction, Sir. I hope you will not take offence if he is a little short with us."

I raise my eyebrow at Em, who grins enigmatically in response. Before I can respond to Miss Swan, we are led into a formal drawing room with a blazing fire, a welcome respite from the bite of the January air.

A woman is seated close to the fire. She rises slowly as we come into the room, as though she is in pain. Her face is young, but her stilted movements age her. Her hair is the same rich brown as Isabella's. In fact, her face and build match the younger beauty's in many ways.

"Wren, how are you today?" Em springs lightly forward to take her hand and kiss it. "Look who I've brought to meet you. This is my great friend, Lord Edward Masen of Forbrigg. Edward, may I present the mother of the two Goddesses of Seat? This is Wren." Another baffling greeting, Em excels in them today. I reach for her hand and bow my head. I am utterly confused as to how to address her.

"Delighted to meet you," I stumble. Her mouth smiles, somewhat, but her eyes are clouded and vacant. I find her disturbing. She doesn't speak.

We remain standing for at least ten minutes, perhaps more. Em is his exuberant self, making conversation about the weather, the hunting we will do, the failing health of his father; but I notice his tension, which is reflected tenfold in the bodies of the young women by our sides. They have both increased the distance between us as far as the heavily furnished room will allow.

Wren never speaks a word. She stands near the fire as still as a statue. She does not nod or smile or acknowledge the conversation around her in any way. Miss Isabella watches her closely, perhaps waiting for a sign or a word from her mother that will explain her demeanour. Neither is forthcoming.

Finally, a butler opens an internal door, and two men enter, quietly sizing up the room.

The younger of the two is clearly of the church. Though it isn't Sunday, he wears a collar and clasps his hands in front of him in a prayerful gesture. His heavy sideburns and crooked spectacles make him appear to be a parody of a vicar. I hope Jasper never views himself this way.

The other man, the image of Rose in colouring and features, or what can be seen of them below the whiskers, exudes an air of ownership. His presence sweeps across the room, and the women simultaneously tense their bodies and relax their anxiety. They remind me of a troupe of soldiers caught misbehaving and waiting for their commander to enter the room. Now that he is here, they will know their punishment and accept it.

I haven't met such a commanding man since my own father passed away. I know I have inherited the Masen presence. I wonder how this fellow will take me.

"Sir Charles, as you see, I have brought my cousin to meet you," says Em, all bluff and confidence. "This is Edward Masen, Lord of Forbrigg Hall in Norfolk." All eyes in the room are on Sir Charles; his size me up from head to toe. I incline my head.

"Sir Charles."

"Lord Masen. You are younger than Mr Cullen led me to believe." Once again, I raise my eyebrow at Em. He has some explaining to do, and he will not avoid it.

"Is that so? I'm pleased to make your acquaintance sir." I look pointedly at the clergyman, waiting for an introduction. I begin to feel like a victim in one of Shakespeare's comedies. Everyone in the room appears to know more about me than I know about them - including that rascal who dragged me over here.

That same rascal introduces us. "William Black, the vicar of this parish." We nod at each other. Em's introduction uncharacteristically lacks in emotion. My cousin is no friend of Black's.

"Rose – refreshments for our guests," Swan barks at her, and she quickly darts to converse with the butler hovering in the doorway. Charles and Black move into the room and take seats near the fire while Wren and Isabella remain standing. I am taken aback at their behaviour. Isabella moves over to her mother and guides her into a seat. Em and I wait for all the ladies to settle, and I follow his lead in sitting before we are invited to.

I am further taken aback when Black begins to interrogate Miss Isabella.

"How far did you walk this morning, my dear?"

"Two or three miles, Mr Black."

"Did you contemplate the lesson we discussed?"

"I did, Mr Black." She replies softly, kindly. I feel affronted for some reason.

"Did you practice your music before you went out?"

"Indeed, Sir, I did."

"I hope you wore your thick shawl. There is a distinct bite to the air this morning."

"As you see, Sir, my shawl is here." She indicates the soft blue item she wore, now draped across her mother's knees. Wren strokes it gently with her fingers, an absent-minded gesture not related to the conversation at all.

It is hardly a conversation. The questions Black asks sound possessive. I wonder what their story is even as I bristle at his rude tone.

"So, Lord Masen of Forbrigg. How is business up in Norfolk?" Sir Charles' inflection is aggressive, dominating. I know how to play this game. The man with the biggest bollocks wins, no matter his age or social standing. I lean back, throw my arms out, and hook one ankle over my knee.

"The war has been good to us. Our landscape has bred some fine engineers, and our pumps and water systems are in demand by the navy and the army. Our crops are needed, too. How is business in Seat, Sir Charles?" How big are your bollocks? He can tell I am not intimidated.

I wish I knew what test he expects me to take. I glare at Em, but his attention is firmly on Miss Swan.

"Engineering, eh?" Swan sidesteps my question and falls into a conversation that no one else in the room has the remotest interest in. Black attempts to maintain an aura of knowledge, though I can tell he has no clue what to say. Thankfully, Em takes it upon himself to entertain the women in the room until our coffee arrives. No expense has been spared, I see. What an odd set up.

Isabella serves me my drink, and our fingers touch as she hands me the fine china. Her warm skin is soft and smooth. She smiles at me - that sunshine smile that I have not yet seen bestowed on anyone else - and I smile back. A lot. When she moves away, I see that both Black and Em are watching me closely. This time, Em raises his eyebrow at me.

A half hour later, we are effectively dismissed, though we are invited to dine at the Manor tomorrow. We are led through the house and take our leave through the front door. As we walk away from the gloomy drawing room into a wide, high ceilinged hallway, I hear a girlish giggle. It's a lovely sound, and it takes some effort not to turn back to determine who made it.

It's been a strange morning. Despite everything, I look forward to returning to this intriguing house on the morrow.

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_6__th__ January 1795_

When the time for our departure to Seat Manor arises, it is pissing rain and sleet, and heavy skies promise snow later.

I suggest to Em a trip out will be foolhardy, and the man looks stricken for a moment. Then he reins himself in and denies my fears for the horses. We will take the carriage, and if we are obliged to outstay our welcome, so be it. We will dine with the Swans come what may.

I feel for the Cullen footman who opens the carriage door for us when we arrive. He accompanied us, unnecessarily I thought, and looks frozen through. Em slaps him on the shoulders as we dash to the shelter of the portico.

"Go get yourselves warmed up, man. I'll see to it they feed you well," he shouts over his shoulder. The butler – Johnson, was his name? - opens the heavy door himself.

"Might they not feed them well?" I ask Em. Johnson takes our already heavily wet coats from us. The man listens, but makes no comment.

"They damn well will. See to it that our men and horses are well looked after, will you Johnson? Good fellow." I am astonished to see Em slip money into Johnson's hand. Is he bribing him to do his job? Neither Johnson nor Em will catch my interrogative look.

"Of course Sir. The family are this way, follow me." He leads us a short way to a door behind which I can hear voices and the opening strains of a popular song on the piano. As the butler opens the door to announce us, an exquisite voice begins the opening notes – high and clear and achingly sweet.

The siren – whoever she is – stops abruptly. Johnson announces our arrival to the company, and we enter to find Miss Isabella and Miss Swan sat shoulder to shoulder on the piano stool.

My sunshine smile on Miss Isabella's face dries all traces of January weather from my body. The younger Miss Swan looks radiant today.

The smile falls from my own face as my attention is brought to the rest of the gathering.

Black is here again, standing close to the piano and looking sullen. Sir Charles remains seated, his large form engulfing the bulk of a delicate looking chaise longue. His eyes are on his youngest daughter's, and he barely acknowledges our presence. Wren sits still and upright on a high-backed chair near the window. She doesn't acknowledge us at all.

Well, we are here now, and by invitation at that. Good manners are important to me, and I want to set a different example for the young ladies in the room. _This is how a gentleman behaves_, I think to myself. I stride towards Wren, take her hand and bow my head.

"Good day to you, Madam." She looks at me, startled out of her stupor long enough to smile tentatively at me. Good enough, it's more than I had from her yesterday. I move back and leave her to her separation.

"Sir Charles, Mr Black," I nod my head at the men, and turn to smile again at the – what does Em call them? Goddesses? "We appear to have interrupted something rather wonderful. Please, ladies, don't stop on our account. Mr Cullen and I would rather go back outside into the weather if our presence ends your performance."

The Goddesses blush – both of them – and it makes them both even more beautiful than they were before.

Miss Isabella begins to protest, but Em is smiling at Miss Swan in that way of his, and I see him mouth the word _please_ to her. She is more than happy to oblige.

"Come now, sister, Mr Black requested a performance. We must not let him down." Miss Isabella looks at Black, who is even more sullen now, then quickly to me. She nods – at me, not Black.

Finally, we are invited to sit. We do, and the music begins. Rose plays the soft notes again, and Isabella's voice soars gently into the room.

I am transfixed.

I don't think I have heard another voice quite like hers. My heart says it's for me – she sings for me. I feel the notes surround me, dancing on my skin, lifting the hair on the nape of my neck, settling in my very bones.

Even my cock stirs.

I feel like a fool as tears prick the corners of my eyes. I have the extraordinary thought that if I do not live another day, my life will have been worth living because I have heard this voice. The words are meaningless, but the sound – she sings for me.

When the last notes drift away, Em applauds, and Black - a beat delayed - joins him. Isabella looks up at me, and I stare back, entranced. She seems unsure, a little disappointed, and I realise my lack of reaction can be interpreted as the opposite of my feeling. I shift in my seat and join the applause, softly. I smile at her and mouth the word _beautiful_. She understands me, and her sunshine smile returns.

Black clears his throat.

"Well done, well done. Your practice rewarded you well, ladies. I congratulate your fine performance. You paid good attention to my advice, I see. Well done." His patronising tone angers me once again. I really have no time for the man, and the idea of spending hours in his presence is already wearing thin on my patience.

There is a knock at the door, and dinner is declared. Swan stands and announces that he has something quick to attend to.

"See Wren into the dining room, will you Black? Isabella, you may accompany Lord Masen. Excuse me." He withdraws, and Black glowers at his retreating form. He does as he is told, however, and reaches for the silent woman's arm. Wren stands for him obediently, Miss Swan takes Em by the arm, and Miss Isabella happily places her delicate hand on my outstretched elbow. I take the opportunity to gently squeeze her fingers with my other hand.

"Thank you," I say. She looks surprised.

"For what?"

"For allowing me to hear your voice. It – er, it was lovely. I've never..." I stumble, not sure how to express myself. "I've never appreciated that particular song until now."

"Oh! Well, thank you. And now?"

"And now it will be my favourite. Though I don't think I shall enjoy it in quite the same way when I hear anyone else sing it." She blushes again, so sweetly. I would like to run my fingers over that flushed cheekbone, but that would not do.

In the dining room Black ensures Miss Swan and I are not seated together. I begin to wonder about his claim over her. He behaves as though there is an understanding there, an engagement perhaps. I believe I threaten him with my presence alone.

Swan does not look happy as he walks into the room and takes in the seating arrangements, but he says nothing.

It is a long and awkward meal.

Once again, no expense has been spared. We are served the finest food, and the wine flows freely. Miss Swan and Miss Isabella don't drink very much, but Wren swallows up their share.

Black appears to be the model of propriety. He is quiet. The conversation centres mainly on Em, Sir Charles, and myself. Once again, I feel I am being interrogated to determine my value. Swan wants to know about my estate, my business affairs, the extent of my wealth, even who my friends and relations are. For the most part, I deflect him easily.

"So your brother is heading into the clergy, then?" Sir Charles' latest topic makes Black perk up his ears.

"Yes. Jasper needn't of course, he's a gentleman of independent means, but he's always been so inclined. He's a gentle soul, and he'll make a compassionate clergyman. The community of Forbrigg is looking forward to having him. Not that there's anything wrong with the current fellow. He is getting on in years though." Wine and good food has loosened my tongue.

"He will want a wife. A clergyman needs a good woman by his side." Black blurts this out, staring accusingly at Sir Charles. I wonder if perhaps he has been drinking more than I thought.

"He is a little young to be thinking of a wife, Mr Black," I say, watching him curiously. In the corner of my eye, I notice Miss Isabella, apparently listening intently.

"You've managed well without a wife so far man," Swan waves his hand at him dismissively.

"A wife would ease my burdens considerably. Do you not agree, Miss Isabella?" Black leers at her over his skew spectacles. He has definitely been drinking, and much more than I realised.

"I cannot say, Sir. Indeed, I do not know which burdens you speak of. You are highly thought of in the Parish, are you not?" She answers him softly, head bowed, eyes lowered. There is a history here I do not comprehend, and it makes me feel uncomfortable.

"Highly thought of. Yes, I am highly thought of, though those that know me best may forget now and then how highly thought of I am." He slams his cutlery down onto the fine china plate so hard it cracks.

I am ready to pick the man up bodily and throw him out of the room, but Em, with his endless charm, diffuses the tension as Swan looks mildly on.

"Now, Mr Black, my father was asking for you just this morning. He begged me to ask your attendance at his bedside before the week is out. I believe he wishes to consult you on an ecclesiastical matter, which is beyond either myself or my good friend here. You know my father, Sir, he will not rest as he should once his mind begins working a matter over. Heavens, we have kept the ladies here a good long while, they must be longing for the comfort of the fire and some relief from male company, loud and boisterous as it is. Shall we ring for the port and cigars, gentlemen? What say you?"

While he speaks, he stands and helps Wren from her chair, so of course, we all must rise too; though I barely see Sir Charles' bum lift from his seat. I suppose he does not afford his wife and children the respect they deserve. Miss Isabella takes her mother's arm from Em, and they withdraw gracefully from the room.

Johnson enters with a young girl, and the table is cleared. The girl is unfortunate enough to pick up Black's plate, and of course, it breaks in two, one side falling back to the table with a crash. Johnson looks at her sharply; the girl seems frightened. The man of the cloth says nothing to relieve her fear, and my growing contempt must show in my tone as I address the butler.

"The girl is not at fault, Johnson. The damage was already done." I glare at Black, willing him to contradict me, but he has finally decided to hold his mouth shut.

Sir Charles turns his shoulder on his friend and addresses me once more.

"How long can we keep you in Wiltshire, Lord Masen? Do you have pressing business to return to?" He places sly emphasis on the words 'Lord' and 'business'. He is sending his friend a message – Lord Masen's bollocks are bigger and more important than yours. I am sure it is unbefitting of me, but I privately agree.

Em speaks for me. "I'm holding him hostage, Sir, at least until after the winter ball. No business can be more pressing than that."

My left eyebrow will be permanently raised soon. "Is that so, Em? We haven't discussed this, amongst other matters. When is the ball?"

"You love to be surprised, Masen, don't deny it. It is less than a week away, so don't fret. Your vast lands and holdings and acquaintance will not succumb to plague before then." His teasing makes me laugh and breaks the tension once again. He is a great friend, but I have yet to get a decent explanation from him.

I will not let him sleep tonight without knowing the truth.

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**Please would you press the review button and tell me what you think? Thank you.**

**Next update will be in a fortnight. Can you wait that long? Not sure that I can, lol.**

**Fic rec – many of you came to me via Georgialion's Pure Revelations, but for those of you who haven't read it yet, hop straight over there for the best mystery and original storyline in the fandom. Genuinely, it will have you gripping the edge of your seat.**


	3. Chapter 2 In the Sight of Our Lord

**Written with the greatest respect and thanks for Stephenie Meyer, who could not have known the perpetual motion machine she was setting off.**

**Thank you readers, alerters, reviewers (you especially), story champions and all. What an extraordinary experience this has been already. **

**Cared, you are the best friend a woman could have. Thank you seems inadequate. Perry Maxwell is the most amazing beta, and makes me a better writer. I'm honoured by her friendship.**

**This chapter is written in memory of my uncle, always referred to as Jim, but whose first name turned out to be Edward. Ever the gentleman, he has rejoined his 'Isabella' at last; may they look upon us with indulgence.**

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Chapter 2 – In the Sight of Our Lord

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_Still the 6th January, 1795, but only just._

A light dusting of snow fell, but thankfully not enough to prevent our return to the Cullen family residence. The library here is very much a man's room, unlike the library at Forbrigg. My mother, I was told, spent a great deal of her time in that warm, light room, and my father never changed a thing that was once hers. It's what Jasper and I know of her.

This room is all Carlisle. When he passes, I imagine Em will keep it as much of a shrine to him as our library is to Elizabeth.

He pours me a brandy, and I sit, toasting my boots and gazing into the flames, all the while waiting for Em to gather his thoughts.

He has a story to tell me, and I'm not moving until it's told.

My thoughts return again and again to the evening we have just spent at Seat Manor. The welcome we received by the younger Miss Swan and her beautiful sister when we entered the drawing room after dinner; the way their faces lit up as they discarded their embroidery in the expectation of entertainment from us; their laughter as Em blatantly cheated at Whist – he truly is a clown – rings in my ears, pleasantly feminine and soft, but heartfelt.

And the singing – when we persuaded Miss Isabella to return to her piano and sing for us again, I thought I'd found heaven. I have not come across such a talent before, not in all the rooms and theatres of London, Paris, or Rome. I had thought the choir I heard in Carlsbad exquisite, but Miss Isabella Swan surpassed all. I consider myself a very lucky man to have heard her.

Black, that bugger, thinks he has a hand in her talent. He sounded proud of her when he told me how much he has her practice every day. Why does he have a say in when and how often she sings?

"Black and Miss Isabella – are they engaged?" I ask Em. He is startled from his thoughts and looks at me strangely.

"There's a long tale to be told, Edward, my friend. But before I tell it, may I ask why you wish to know the answer to that question?"

"I don't like the man. I don't like him at all, Em. I don't believe he is good to her. She is not comfortable under his gaze or when he addresses her. It concerns me." As soon as the words leave my lips, I realise that I have no right to be concerned for Miss Isabella Swan. She is barely an acquaintance. My interest is not proper. I shift uncomfortably in my chair and glance at Em. He looks thoughtfully at me.

"What do you think of Miss Swan?"

Em's question is not what I expected to hear. I know what _he_ wants to hear, though. I look at him, and I know.

"She is beautiful. And sweet and kind and graceful, and she is utterly in love with you Em. She looks at you as though you are her world. You will make her very happy, my friend, and she you."

He nods, determination written on his familiar features.

"I asked for her hand, and she accepted me. I want to make her my wife before Carlisle passes, it means so much to him to see me settled happily; and you've seen him, Edward, there is not much time remaining."

"So what holds you back? Is it Swan?"

"Aye. The man's a schemer, a pirate. He refuses my suit unless I can find an equally propitious match for his younger daughter."

"I don't understand you," I am shocked by his anger; he has shown no sign of it till now. "Are you saying Swan has turned you down?"

"Not at all, or yes, he has, but it's not that he does not wish the marriage to go ahead. He thinks I will make a _fine son-in-law_. " He mocks the man with his emphasis on those words, the slight country accent that touches Sir Charles' speech exaggerated by Em's bitterness.

"So he wants you for his son but will not have you marry his daughter? I am still baffled, Em."

"He wants more. It is his defining characteristic. Whatever he has, the man wants more. The fool is a cheapskate. He hardly pays his servants; and when he is not out to catch important guests, he barely feeds his family. Rose and Isabella have not once left the environs of Wiltshire, Edward, not once. He keeps them prisoner in their own home. And though he has promised Isabella's hand to that idiot he calls a friend, he wishes me to obtain a better husband for her before he will allow Rose to be my bride."

The implications of this tirade take some minutes to permeate my understanding.

"Swan intends to auction his daughters though he has promised one of them to another? Surely you are mistaken..." I trail off at the look on Em's face. He is not mistaken.

I am struck again by a bolt of understanding.

"Me? He wants me to marry his youngest daughter?"

"I believe he would approve the match. Yes."

"Em, did you ask me to come here to see Carlisle or to assist you in the purchase of a young bride?"

He drops his head into his hands, clutching at his hair. "Both." I can barely hear him. I am stunned into silence.

I value Em's friendship above all else. We have known one another since birth – his mother and mine were close cousins, and when neither woman survived our childhoods, our fathers kept up the connection for us. We have helped each other through many things. Without Em's support when my father passed, I would not be in the position I am in now. We share confidences with absolute candour and have never kept secrets from one another.

The fact that he has kept his silence until this moment says more to me than any of the words that have left his mouth this night.

"How long have you loved Miss Swan?"

"Since the moment her eye caught mine the first time we met. But it is not an infatuation Edward," he lifts his head and looks directly at me, "I thought perhaps it was at first, but now I know I would do anything for her. Anything."

There is no doubting the fierce sincerity behind his words. That he has risked our bond is evidence enough.

"You should have come to me, Em."

"I know Ed, I know, but..." he considers his words, but they fail him. He lifts his shoulders in a defeated manner. This is a new Emanuel Cullen to me – I have not known him crushed by circumstance, ever.

"Look, Em, I can't breeze in and take away a woman who has been promised to another; you know I can't. Not even for you. Marriage is important to me – I want what my father says he had, and what Esmerelda and Carlisle had. I know you do too, and I understand that you can have that with Miss Swan. I will help you, Em, of course I will, but I won't compromise the happiness of a young lady when I do so; and I won't take away what belongs to another, no matter how little I think of the man. Swan and I have interests in common; I have the means to pressure him in other ways."

Em rises and begins pacing in front of the fire, his frustration greatly in evidence.

"Edward, I don't think you comprehend the whole. There's more to it than that. I'm not sure where to start. Do you know anything of the family? There's no reason you should, you don't run in the same circles or live close by, but you may have heard something mentioned about the Swans at some time?"

I shake my head. I don't follow society gossip unless it is of benefit to me. I am not above using others' mistakes against them when it is to the benefit of the greater good. Perhaps that sounds arrogant, but many rely upon me, and I must make use of what means I have to provide for them. Listening to gossip and scandal for its own sake, however, holds no interest for me, so if there is a tale to be told about the Swan family, I do not know it.

"Well, let me say this. Miss Isabella may have been promised to Mr Black, but she did not make the promise. She was twelve years old when the agreement was made between her father and his _heir apparent_, and she is not Juliet; neither is Black Romeo, far from it. So while I understand your position entirely, and I only entertained the thought of you and Miss Isabella out of regard for the pair of you, do not think that she goes into this arrangement of her own free will. Never were there two young women with less independence to determine their own futures than Rose and Isabella Swan."

Something twists in my gut; the heavy meal consumed hours earlier sits uncomfortably inside me still.

"She was a child when the agreement was made?"

"Indeed she was."

The patriarchal tone Black adopts when he speaks to her is more understandable now. He treats her like a child because to him, she is one. A child he has been expecting to take responsibility for for – how many years?

"How old is Miss Isabella now?"

"She is twenty. Her sister is twenty one, almost twenty two."

Eight years. For eight years of her life, Isabella has had this parody of a man fawning over her, moulding her to his will.

"You could elope. You and Rose – you have the means, you do not strictly need his permission."

Emanuel spins on his heels mid pace and roars in my direction: "Do you think that if it was as easy as that, that I would have attempted to influence your involvement in any way? Do you now think so little of me that you imagine my pride has blinded my vision or stupidity has clouded my actions? Do you have any comprehension," and here his voice softens, "of what love is?"

I keep my own voice soft, too. "No, Em. I have not had the good fortune to experience love. I am sorry to have offended you, but I don't understand. Help me to understand."

"I apologise Edward. I am at my wit's end. I am anxious for my father, and I am anxious for Rose and Isabella, and I am not explaining myself well. I have put a great burden on you without your permission, and I sincerely apologise. I value your opinion, you know I do, and I know you will help me if you can." He throws himself back into his chair at the end of this speech and reaches once again for the brandy. He offers me a glass, but I decline. I have a feeling that a clear head will be required by one of us, at least.

He takes a slug of liquor and a deep breath. "Rose will not leave her mother and her sister unprotected. If we were to marry without her father's permission, he would cut all ties, and she would never see Wren or Miss Isabella again."

"I see. You do not believe he would soften his stance with time?"

"No, I do not. The man is ruthless. He will get what he wants. He always does."

"And what, precisely, do Wren and Miss Isabella need protection from?"

"Oh, Edward. I do not believe that even I know the whole of it. I cannot bear to have the woman I love living under that man's thumb a moment longer, and yet I do bear it. As does she. Look at Wren, Edward, think of her. That is what I want to take Rose away from, Wren's fate. Wren's fate."

He mutters the last words, head back in his hands. The man looks almost broken. I can't bear to see my friend in such pain, and truth be told, the thought of those lovely girls in any kind of danger worries me greatly. I see Miss Isabella's smile in my mind's eye, and hear her sweet laugh in my head – I don't wish her to come to any harm, any harm at all. The world would lose a great talent if she sang no more.

I recall Black's patronising encouragement, and imagine a little girl with loose hair and pinafores being bargained over by her father and the clergyman. A shudder runs down my spine. There must be something I can do.

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_14__th__ January 1795_

The winter ball in Seat is an annual occurrence greatly anticipated by the citizens of the town and surrounding estates. I recall attending it once before, I must have been all of eighteen years. The excitement I felt then echoes in my memory as I dress this evening.

I am not certain what it is I am excited about, but it's been some time since I experienced this emotion. Am I so jaded at all of twenty-nine years of age?

I didn't think to pack the correct attire for a ball when I came to visit Em and Carlisle, so their housekeeper has been tailoring some of Em's clothes for me – that is how determined he is to keep me here. Mrs Cope has done a fine job, though he and I are different in height and build. Em looks me over as we await the carriage and gives me a nod of approval. I am glad he approves! The man is turning himself into a hen, fussing over me this way.

I hope he knows I will remain here regardless in order to help him and his future wife.

She will be his wife. I will find a way around Swan. Greater men than he have given up in the face of my obstinacy.

"Why have you not encountered the Swans at the winter ball before, Em?"

"I have not been here myself the last few years, and they have only attended once before. They don't socialise much. Of course, now that they have attended this ball once, the entire neighbourhood is anticipating the pleasure of dancing with them again this year. I hope you marked Miss Isabella's card, or you will be hard pressed to find an opportunity." He winks at me, his spirits high in anticipation.

"Miss Isabella Swan has granted me the honour of dancing the first set with her. Much to her fiancé's displeasure."

"Do not grant him the honour of that title. He does not deserve it." The darkness returns to Em's features, but only fleetingly. I don't argue.

We arrive at The Crown ahead of the Swans, and Em introduces me to some of the more notable families. As always, wives and daughters eye my friend and I with speculation and intent, yet we block their eager looks with practised good manners. Being categorised as eligible is more tiring than you might think.

When the Swans do arrive, a buzz of conversation rises around the rooms, so that many eyes fall on the Goddesses of Seat as they make their entrance.

I am not sure _Goddesses_ is fitting nomenclature this evening. _Angels_ might do.

Miss Isabella's gown is a deep blue, which complements the blush on her face perfectly as I kiss her hand. The very tops of her breasts are exposed, and her flush continues from her cheeks to the pale swell there. She wears a simple necklace: a gold chain with a gold rose resting in the clavicle of her elegant neck. I hope it is not a gift from Black. I find that I do not want anything of his to touch her porcelain skin.

We make small talk, constantly interrupted as we are by men and women who hope to engage one or the other of us for a dance or a favour. It strikes me that for once, we are not actually interrupted by the vicar himself.

"What have you done with Mr Black this evening, Sir Charles?"

"Prior engagement." Swan is as blunt in his reply to me as I was in my question. I take this to mean Sir Charles did not want his presence to mar the evening.

The dancing is announced, and I offer Miss Isabella my arm. Em accompanies Miss Swan, and as members of the most prominent families present, they are to open the ball and lead the dance. Em is an excellent dancer, I know, despite his heavy build, and his Rose looks excited to be by his side. Miss Isabella smiles at them as we take our places.

"They are so elegant together, are they not?" she asks. "All eyes in the room are on them."

"They are indeed a handsome young couple. But you, Miss Isabella, are a sight beyond elegance. My eyes are finding it difficult to look anywhere except at you." There is my sunshine smile, and there is my blush. If I were a cruel man, I could make a sport of this game.

Over the last week I have taken every opportunity available to me to elicit _that_ smile and _that_ blush. Call me barbarous, but I have learned how to do it at will now.

The room fills with colourful bows and sashes, and the small orchestra begins. There are other fashionable couples dancing tonight, and there are many country bumpkins, too. They are in the mood for mischief and pranks, and they swirl around, missing steps deliberately, turning the dance about on itself. We laugh and are jostled many times, Miss Isabella falling into my arms more than once.

When she does – when I steady her with my hands, which look huge on her delicate arms, and hold her close to me, protecting her from harm – the most extraordinary feeling comes over me. I can smell her scent: lavender and rose water and something else - something indefinable - and I want to hold her body close to mine and kiss her hair, her forehead, her eyelids – all of her. I want to keep her safe and tuck her away. I want to hear her warm laughter in my ear and keep it to myself – just for me.

I never want to let her go.

Unfortunately for me the set is over as soon as it has begun. I am so surprised, I am almost convinced the orchestra has shortened the pieces, cheating me from my pleasure. Of course it isn't so. Or perhaps it is so, but there is nothing to be done about it.

We must part for propriety's sake.

For the rest of the evening it is my lot to stand by and watch her dance with others.

She laughs and she smiles and she holds herself erect, taking the steps with graceful care and attention.

She does not smile my sunshine smile for anyone else.

She does not laugh with glee and abandon with another partner.

She does not fall into anyone else's arms, no matter how she is jostled and pulled about.

And I begin to wonder...

The hour is late when Em speaks quietly into my ear, "Black is here. He seeks her out. I think he has been drinking."

I search the rooms with my eyes, and there he is, hair awry, sombrely dressed for a ball, pushing his way irritably and, it must be said, drunkenly through the crowd. He is closer to his betrothed than am I, so it is no surprise he reaches her before I can intercede.

I watch. He appears to be berating her. Her head is bowed, while all traces of smile and carefree enjoyment flee the moment she is accosted by him. Her dance partner, a moment ago eagerly awaiting the start of the last set, slinks away, unnoticed by either.

She gestures at the gathered dancers, and he must decide they will dance, as they take their places in the set. The music starts, and with still, strained features, they begin.

I don't know whether the man can dance when sober, but when addled by drink, he is a liability.

I cannot say for certain, but from where I am standing, it almost looks as though he causes her physical pain. She draws her head away when they are close – perhaps he smells of drink – but when he takes her hand, she winces, more than once. More than three times now.

I have not fought a man for many years – I boxed as a youth, as did my brother; my father thought it a noble outlet for a young man's pent up energy. This night, the vigour I feel before a match invades my arms and legs and stomach, while my hands clasp into fists. I have never felt such an urge to beat someone to oblivion.

Then he pushes her. Time slows down as I see him - anger written across his features - raise a hand to her shoulder and violently shove against her so that she falls into the back of the man dancing behind her.

I move so swiftly through the crowd I have reached her before she has properly righted herself. She apologises to the other dancer, who gallantly holds her steady lest she falls.

I reach for her hand and steady her myself while my wrath is turned on Black.

"Sir, you are awash with liquor, and you must leave before you cause more harm." I tower over him and force him to step backwards from the dancers, gently pulling Miss Isabella behind me as we move.

I see the dance of emotions across his weak features – anger is there, and defiance, but fear is predominant. He is right to fear me. He tries to find words, but he doesn't know what he wishes to express.

Em materialises at my side. He and I protect each other, we always have; and we know each other so well, we do not need speech to communicate our intention. We walk Black backwards towards the doors, and he retreats, stumbling wordlessly. We reach the entrance, and Em gestures to the servant there.

"Mr Black is leaving, fetch his outer wear," I snap to the man, and to Black himself I say, "You may apologise to Miss Isabella Swan when you are sober, but you will not ever touch her again. Do you understand?"

I hear her gasp behind me. Black is fighting with himself; he wants to appear defiant and in control, but he is really frightened of me, and I am glad of it. He should fear me. I badly wish to do him harm.

He nods, accepting my terms, and whirls on his heels to leave, almost running from the rooms. My eyes do not leave his back 'til he has gone.

Coward.

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_15__th__ January 1795_

My Dear Jasper

It is very early in the morning here, and as always when I am unable to sleep, my thoughts turn to you, Brother. I have much on my mind, and I beg your patience, which I know you will grant me, as I gather my thoughts.

Em and I returned to Cullen House late last night after the Winter Ball to find that Mr Cullen has taken a turn for the worse. His breathing is laboured and his heart beats irregularly. He does not move from his bed, but is still able to smile and clasp hands - the better to comfort Em and I rather than to take comfort for himself. The physician believes it could go either way at this juncture, but Carlisle himself declares he is not ready to leave us yet. He knows his son is troubled, and he fights to remain strong for his sake.

I too am troubled, Jasper. You were not as close to the Cullens as I, but I know you will understand when I tell you that I feel as though I am losing a father all over again. I am not ashamed to tell you I came to my room and shed a few tears a moment ago, 'til the urge to write to you took hold of me. I trust your journey back to Cambridge was uneventful and that your landlord was properly prepared for you this time. I miss you, Jasper. I have a story to tell you and long for one of our endless talks where you pretend to look up to me and I use your calm understanding to clear my head.

I seek your calm understanding now. There is a young lady here whose acquaintance I have barely made, and I desire more. She is lively and exquisite and full of grace. When she is in my company, she laughs and smiles and teases all the time, but when I see her with others, I know she is sorely mistreated. I want to save her from her situation, but to do so I would have to make her my wife. I barely know her, Jasper, and a part of me craves the thought of making her mine forever.

Tell me what to think, Brother. Em and Mr Cullen wish to be remembered to you.

Your Loving Brother,

Edward.

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_15__th__ January 1795_

An unprecedented visit is made to Cullen House this morning. Wren, Sir Charles, Miss Swan and Miss Isabella Swan arrive in a polished and fashionable carriage and await our attendance in the receiving room.

Em and I are with Carlisle when their visit is announced, and we both dart to the window overlooking the drive to confirm that what the servant says is true. There is the carriage, pulling away to the stables. Carlisle laughs at us, causing him to gasp for breath.

When he is recovered, he begs us both leave to attend to our guests, but elicits a promise to ask the young ladies to attend him by his bedside for 'just a few moments of delight for an old, dying man.' Em smiles fondly at his father.

"Consider it done." He pats his shoulder, and we each politely gesture to the other to leave the room first. Eventually we both push through the doorway at the same time, which turns into a race for, and down, the staircase. We are neck and neck when we reach the bottom, laughing like boys in a release of tension that seems inappropriate, given the circumstances, but the devil take me if I care.

We compose ourselves and enter the receiving room. Once again, Wren sits apart from the rest and Swan drapes himself over a chaise that looks too delicate to hold him. The young women are sat together on a small couch, holding hands. They all rise as we enter, except Wren, who gazes vacantly off into the park beyond the window.

Em is all charm and welcome. "Good morning, good morning! To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?" He addresses Swan but moves rapidly to Miss Swan's side, taking her hand and smiling into her eyes as he kisses it. There is her blush; there is the smile she reserves just for him.

He releases her hand and reaches for Miss Isabella's, kissing it quickly and squeezing it gently. I notice because I am so focused on her, inspecting her form for damage from her rough treatment last night. She is a little paler than usual, and her eyes are slightly reddened, as though she has been crying. I hate the thought of her crying.

I nod perfunctorily at Swan as I move to greet Wren and then her daughters. Once again, Wren gazes at me absently. She smells of sherry.

Miss Isabella tries to avoid my eye, even as I take her hand in mine. She looks down demurely.

"Do you fare well this morning, Miss Isabella?" I ask, as quietly as I am able. I hope she understands the meaning behind my enquiry.

"Yes, Sir, thank you." Still she does not meet my eye.

"We had news of Mr Cullen's bad turn, and my daughters wished to pay him their respects. We wondered whether we could be of service to you in any way," says Swan.

"That is unexpectedly kind of you, Sir Charles. My father is delighted that the young ladies are here. He wishes their attendance for the good of his soul forthwith. Masen, Carlisle is still bright now, but he may not remain so for long. Will you accompany the Miss Swans to his chamber? I wish to converse with Sir Charles a moment."

"Of course. Please ladies, this way if you will." Em looks determined. I wonder what he is up to. I feel some trepidation leaving him with Swan, alone. Aside from Wren, of course – I glance at her, but she remains oblivious.

Carlisle is just as we left him, looking grey against the white bed linen. "Look who I've brought to see you, old man." He smiles, rather weakly I think.

"Oh, Mr Cullen, look at you!" Miss Isabella rushes straight to his side and sits on the edge of the bed next to him. She raises her hand to smooth back his hair. Miss Swan hovers awkwardly nearby. I pull up two chairs so that she and I may sit and enjoy his company too.

Isabella – I can no longer think of her as a Miss Swan in my head; she is firmly Isabella now, no matter how forward it is of me – begins to tell him snippets of news about friends and neighbours, on the whole people I know nothing about. Her sister joins in occasionally as Carlisle and I listen quietly.

She is so sweet to him. I had no idea there was a relationship between them, but I see now that this softly spoken young woman and my surrogate father are friends, and close friends at that. Carlisle is a good man, my own father often referred to him as a saint. If Carlisle and Isabella are close, it says much to me of her natural character.

After half an hour or so, there is a knock at the door, and Marks enters. He gestures for me so I excuse myself.

"I beg your pardon, my Lord, but there is an urgent message for you. A runner has been from Seat. He awaits your response, below."

The devil be damned, now what? I follow the Cullen's butler downstairs and find a youth waiting for me with a letter recognisably from Forbrigg.

"I am to return with your reply at once, My Lord." The boy is flushed with excitement and exercise. I break the seal with dread.

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_13__th__ January 1795_

Lord Masen,

I write in haste with sad news. Mr Eccles has met with serious misfortune and has been damaged in his organs after being thrown from his mount. He lives still, but the physician does not expect him to last as long as it will take this letter to reach you. I am sorry to bring you tidings such as these when you are bringing comfort to your friends, Sir, but we need you at Forbrigg. We await your instructions.

Your servant,

Samuel Davis

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God damn it! This is the worst news, the absolute worst. My heart begins to thunder through my chest like a stampede. I will have to leave immediately. I pen a reply and send the boy off with a coin and seek out Emanuel.

Raised voices are coming from the receiving room where I left Em and Sir Charles some time ago. I cannot hear what they are saying, though I pause to listen before I knock and enter.

Both men look strained and heated. I cannot spare the time to concern myself with their argument. With my estate manager quite possibly dead by now, and he with a wife and young family to care for at that, I have no time to lose. I must return to my responsibilities.

"Emanuel, I apologise for interrupting you, but I have just this minute received very bad news from home. I am sorry, but I must return immediately. Could you send for the stable boy? I will ride to Seat and take the express coach from there."

"Of course, Edward, of course. Is there anything I can do?" We move together to the door, and I almost forget Swan is there until he calls after me.

"When will you return, Lord Masen?" I spin around to face him. What does he want from me? Oh yes, my money, my status, my connections, and to marry his daughter though he has sold her to the devil once already.

"I cannot say, Sir Charles."

"Isabella will be sorry you are gone."

I stare at him. For the longest time we look across the room towards each other, a wordless conversation that I don't understand taking place between us.

My mouth opens and the last words I expect to say emerge from it.

"May I speak to your daughter alone?"

Em looks as astonished as I feel. Swan nods.

"Em, may I use a room..."

"The library? The blue room? The drawing room? You wait in the drawing room; I will fetch her down and send for the horses at the same time. There's no need to pack, I'll send your trunk on. Is there anything you need to gather – I'll call Mrs Cope, she will sort you out." Still mumbling to himself he leaves the room in search of the various people he has promised me.

"She is a lovely girl." I spin to face Swan. What did he just tell me?

"I cannot allow her to marry Black. He will ruin her," he says.

"Then turn him away!"

"It is not as simple as that. I made a promise to him some time ago in return for a great favour. It was a difficult time for me. I didn't know."

"You didn't know what, exactly?"

"I didn't know how he would turn out. How she would turn out. How I would feel."

My stomach clenches hard in my gut, and I swallow bile. I feel cold. The shock of the events of last night and this morning are making themselves felt in my tense body.

"You didn't know how _you_ would feel? Did you consider how _she_ would feel? At any juncture?"

"No, Sir, I did not." As blunt as ever, the man has opened a new page in my book entitled _rage_.

I turn my back on him and stride out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I stand still and count until my breathing has slowed before making my way to the drawing room. It is empty. The decanter beckons me from the corner of the warm space, and I pour myself a glass, which I swallow in one, long draught.

There is a hesitant knock on the door, and Isabella appears tentatively behind it.

"You wished to speak to me, Lord Masen?"

"I did, I did. Please, Miss Isabella, come in." She is here, and I have absolutely no idea what to say to her.

She smiles at me, but it is not my sunshine smile.

"Please sit." I gesture towards a chair, and she perches herself on the edge of it. I remain standing, pacing in fact, in front of her. What on earth am I going to say? I have no idea what I am doing here with her.

"Is there something wrong? Have I done something to displease you? Is this because of ..."

"No! No, you could not displease me if you tried, good Lord, no." She looks a little relieved, though still anxious.

"I am afraid I have had some bad news from Forbrigg, very bad news, and I have to leave immediately."

"Oh. I'm so sorry, is there anything I can help you with? Mr Cullen will be sad to see you go. He speaks of you very fondly. Both the Mr Cullens do."

"I know. And I am very fond of them." I tear my hands through my hair as the realisation that I must say my last goodbyes to my friend and mentor before I leave hits me in my gut. Carlisle may not make it through the week. It will take a great deal longer than that to set Forbrigg in order.

"I will be here – that is, Rose and I will be here to ease the burden. We will speak to him of you." The kindness behind her words is not lost on me. As muddled as I am in amongst the anxiety of the morning, I recognise the profound goodness that resides in Isabella, that thoughtfulness which she wishes to extend towards Em as well as Carlisle and myself. It makes me want to drop to my knees in front of her.

I want to be comforted. I do not recall ever having wanted to be comforted in this way before, even when my own father died – perhaps because I had no one to wish comfort from.

Her deep brown eyes are trained on me with a hundred emotions reflected in their depths. I hope that one of them is love. I want to be loved, so badly.

Before I know what I am doing, I do drop to my knees in front of her and take her soft hand in mine.

"Miss Swan, we are barely acquainted, and I did not come to Seat to look for a wife. Marriage was the furthest thing from my mind. Circumstances have heightened my emotions, and I barely know myself; but if I only know one thing, it is that the thought of you by my side for the rest of my allotted years makes all else appear insignificant. I am a fortunate man, and I can promise you so many things. You will never want for anything, and I will always treat you with respect. I wish to take care of you. Will you let me take care of you? Will you agree to be my wife?"

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The Express rumbles along the rutted path, jolting me gently against the fat gentleman to my left and the thin one to my right. My eyes stay resolutely open, staring at nothing but refusing to sleep, as my mind replays the same words over and over.

What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?

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**I LOVED your reviews last chapter. I hope I replied to everyone, but if I didn't you had better let me know this time. **

**Please will you review and tell me what you think of chapter 2? **

**I wanted to surprise you all and post this chapter early, but life knocked me for six. It is safest to say I will post every fortnight. See you then!**


	4. Chapter 3 – Let Us Pray

**This chapter is dedicated to refugees throughout time and place, who have lost everything yet still fight so very hard to live a good life in a new home.**

**A warning – this is the chapter in which you discover that our hero is a flawed and realistic human being of his time; and in no way a sparkly, 107 year-old, virgin vampire.**

**Stephenie Meyer wrote Twilight, and some authors think they are cooler than her – ****I**** know this to be untrue.**

**Do you have any idea of the name of the feeling ****I**** get when Perry Maxwell (beta) and Cared (pre-reader) give me feedback on my work? ****I**** think it might be joy. Any errors that remain in this chapter are mine or Sir Charles Swan's. Thank you readers, reviewers, champions and the community of wonderful people who make up this **_**Twiverse**_**.**

**Important A/N at the end.**

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Chapter 3 – Let Us Pray

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_16__th__ January 1795_

Sir Charles,

I was forced to leave Cullen House in great haste, and though I believe you understood the purpose of my audience with your daughter, I was not able to request your permission for her hand in marriage before I left. I apply to your honour and understanding by letter at the earliest opportunity afforded to me.

Sir, you know I have the means to offer Miss Isabella everything she could ever want or need, including my heart, which she has expressed her desire for. She has accepted my proposal, and I ask that you do me the honour of accepting it too. I understand that in doing so you will break your bond with Black, and I offer to negotiate any reparations that will sooth his loss. I do not wish the man to express any claim on Miss Isabella in any form, either in my presence or hers, or in any other company. I hope that is clearly understood.

I enclose a letter for your daughter and beg your permission to correspond with her.

Yours etc.

Lord Masen

My Dear Miss Isabella,

If you receive this letter it will be because your father has granted his permission for us to both marry and correspond. I write from an inn where I wait for the next Express stage, and must soon depart. Your answer made me the happiest of men, even though there is so much pain and sadness back at Cullen House and onwards at Forbrigg. I will bear it all with strength because I know you think fondly of me. Please write to me soon.

Your Future Husband,

Lord Edward Masen

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_17__th__ January 1795_

When I reach Forbrigg in the early hours of the morning, all is dark. At first, only the stable boy and the dogs are there to greet me. I begin to tend to the borrowed horse myself, while Tom runs off to rouse Samuels and Jacob.

Jacob stumbles in, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, My Lord," he says, "I took the physician home not an hour ago. Eccles has passed on, Sir. We thank God for it, for he suffered long and loud. The physician said it was a wonder he lasted as long as he did. We have not had much sleep around Forbrigg, My Lord."

"I'm sorry to hear it, Jacob. Is someone with the family?"

"Mrs Clearwater, my Lord."

"Best person for it, I suppose. I will not trouble them now. Tom!" The boy is climbing into the straw, to sleep again no doubt. He jumps to attention at the sound of my voice.

"My Lord?"

"Wake one of your sisters to fetch me some hot water. I need to wash before I deal with anything. I need tea and a little food, too."

He springs into action like a small deer running from a fox. Jacob takes over care of the horse, rubbing him down with a soft cloth, murmuring gently to him.

Samuels is at the door to greet me.

"My Lord, we did not expect you so soon. You made good time." He looks exhausted. He's a good butler, the best, but coping with the loss of the Estate manager is way beyond his field of expertise.

"I'm here now, Samuels. Get some sleep. I'll have someone wake you when I need you."

"Very good, My Lord." I can see he wants to disagree, but he knows better than to argue with me. The clock in the hall softly chimes the hour – at four o'clock in the morning there is no point my attempting to sleep. I make my way to the kitchen to hurry the girl along so that I can make a start on my day.

The kitchen is spotless as always. The long rows of copper pans hanging on the mantle shine softly in the low lamplight. The large kettle is beginning to steam on the range, and loaves of bread are set to rise in the warmth close by. The air smells of yeast and wood smoke. A girl walks out of the pantry, eyes half-closed, until she sees me standing there, and screams. She quickly clamps her free hand across her mouth.

"Sorry to startle you, child. I've come to take my tea here, to be quick. Is the water ready yet?" She nods, sets down her provisions and rushes to lift the heavy kettle. Then she looks around, confused. Where does she think I want it, in the kitchen?

"In the scullery, girl. I'll have a quick wash there. Fetch me a clean shirt, will you?" She nods again – struck dumb by her master in the kitchen. You would think the staff would be used to my ways by now; there is nowhere in this house I don't frequent.

In the cold scullery, I strip down to my breeches and splash my face and hair with the steaming water. I dip my shirt into the stone sink and use it as a washcloth to wipe the sweat from my torso. It feels so good to remove the grime of my journey from my body. I undo the fastenings on my breeches and dip and wring my shirt again, wiping around my groin and belly. It's the best I can do until there is time for a bath. I throw the shirt down and turn around, looking for something to dry myself on, and find the girl is there again, staring at me with an open mouth.

"Girl!" Her eyes are glued to my open breeches. I hastily do them up. I think my harsh tone shocks her, and she guiltily meets my eyes before dropping hers to the floor and holding out her hands. She has a clean linen towel and a freshly laundered shirt for me. I take them from her, keeping as much distance between us as I can.

"Thank you. Go and make my tea and something quick to eat." She spins on her heels and runs, and for the first time since I played the fool with Em, I find myself smiling.

There's nothing like a little appreciation from a pretty girl to cheer me up. Now to deal with the grim business of life and death.

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The sun sets before I have a chance to rest again. Mrs Clearwater brings me a light supper in the library, where a fire warms my back as I attempt to wade through some of the correspondence Samuels has left out for me.

"How is Mrs Eccles this afternoon?"

"I sent Leah over with food a little while ago, My Lord. She tells me the children ate well, but the woman hasn't stirred from her bed."

I sigh. I tried to speak to her earlier, but she was insensible. Mrs Wright, her closest neighbour, tells me her whole world revolved around her husband. She was unprepared for his loss.

"Will your brother come home, Sir?"

"For the funeral, yes. I won't disturb him earlier – he has almost completed his studies you know, Mrs C."

She smiles fondly at me. "It will be good to have you both home Sir, though I am sorry about the circumstances. If there is anything I can do?"

I shake my head. "Get some rest, Mrs C. There'll be another long day tomorrow. Thank you for all you have done already."

"Of course, My Lord. Good night, Sir."

"Goodnight."

I sharpen my quill and reach for the inkwell. I can answer a few of these before I retire. There are a few personal letters in amongst the business ones, and I read them first.

The letter from Sir James and Lady Victoria makes me smile. They find London dull without me, it seems:

_...My minx of a wife whines in my ear like a Scottish midge about when you will join us again. I have told her you will surely pay us a visit if we return to Cambridgeshire. London has been very dull this season. We return on the first – come and see us; it has been far too long! Or join us in Buttsgrove later in the Spring, when we return for Hettie's Christening. My aunt will disown us if we miss that regal event..._

It's true I have not spent a great deal of time with my old friend over the last couple of years, but that is hardly my fault. Perhaps it is time to let bygones be bygones. He has not mentioned anything out of the ordinary – it's all water under the bridge, after all.

I fold a paper to letter size and begin to tell my old partner in crime my news.

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_18__th__ January 1795_

Dear Cousin,

He is gone. Father closed his eyes for the last time at 5 o'clock this evening and breathed his last a half hour later. He was surrounded by people he loved and I cannot think of a better way to pass. He did not suffer. I will miss him more than I can ever say, but I am glad he is at peace. He was not a man to suffer illness long.

Miss Isabella Swan was here, you will be pleased to know, and held his hand and mopped his brow as a loving daughter would. My Rose has been a great comfort to me. Carlisle was happy to know we would be married, though he will not see the day. I was made to vow to tell you his thoughts on your betrothal to Miss Isabella, which were: "Praise the Lord, I may now go to my rest in peace. All the people I love will be well cared for."

I am very tired, and the thought of arranging a funeral saps my strength yet further. I wish I could be of assistance to you, I know Eccles will be well nigh impossible to replace. My father's funeral will take place on Friday, and I imagine Eccles' will be on the same day? After Friday I will have several meetings I will have to attend here in Seat pertaining to the farm and Cullen House. I do not offer to come to Norfolk, as I know it will not happen; and equally, I understand the impossibility of your coming back to Wiltshire. We will support one another from a distance in spirit and through words alone.

Your Very Great Friend, Emanuel Cullen

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_20__th__ January 1795_

_My Dear Husband-to-be,_

_Before this past week, I did not know it was possible to be so sad and so happy within the same body at the same time. Mr Cullen's passing was peaceful, and though you may find it difficult to comprehend, not without joy. He taught me so much in his last days about how to be thankful. He was thankful for the time he was granted with his wife and grateful that he would be returning to her now after so many years apart. He thanked the Lord not only for his fine son, Emanuel, but also for his relationship with you and your brother, myself and my sister, and his many, many friends. He was grateful for his beautiful home and the people who worked for him. Above all else, he was thankful for the love he was able to share with so many. He is – was – such a good man. I promised him that I would take care of you on his behalf, and I only hope I can live up to his expectations. I want to take care of you so much. It is as though it was always my purpose in life._

_Your Isabella Swan _

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_20__th__ January 1795_

My Dear Cousin,

Thank you for taking the time to write when you are so burdened. I am glad your father no longer suffers. It was difficult to bear seeing him in pain that way, you felt so too, I know.

The dead are free, Emanuel, but the living suffer for them. Eccles' wife is stricken. She does not rise from her bed and the neighbours have taken in the children. I attempted to speak with her, but she didn't respond. Her brother's wife has been called to attend to her, and I hope she arrives before the funeral – yes, it will take place on Friday. I am sorry not to be able to come to you, but I am thankful I was able to say my goodbye to Carlisle in person. He was a good, good man, Em. I know you will find it hard without him, but you have his best qualities inside of you: his strength and his ability to see the good in people. And you have your Miss Swan. She will be yours, now, Em, won't she? You say you are to be married – has Swan embraced his future son-in-law yet? I enclose his reply to my proposal for your amusement.

Keep your chin up, fellow. The funeral, the business of death – all gets done in time. As soon as I am able, I will return to you and our blushing Goddesses.

Your true friend,

Edward

_Encs _

_17__th__ January 1795_

_My Dear Lord Masen,_

_I do grant my permision for you to take my precious youngest daughter's hand in marriage, dependent on our agreement on reparrations to Mr Black, who is understandably devastated at your proposal and her and my acceptence thereof; and dependant on certin neccessary financial and business arrangements which I am so certin of your being able to fulfil, I have granted Isabella permision to correspond with you in the full knowlege of her being bound to you very soon. Rest assured, Mr Black will no longer lay claim to your future bride in any manner._

_Yours etc._

_Sir Charles Swan_

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_23__rd__ January 1795_

As I walk the grounds of Forbrigg this afternoon, it is with another pair of eyes inside my head. With Isabella's letter next to my heart, everything I see, I see as she might.

Will she appreciate the wide avenue built by my grandfather, with the now grand chestnut trees adding their strength and beauty to its length?

Will she favour the symmetry of the tall windows fronting either side of the portico, as I do?

The honeysuckle-covered wall that surrounds this side of the orchard, visible from the orangery, may remind her of home.

The archway that frames the dovecote, and which began my father's favourite walk through the grounds, seems a bit forlorn in the wintry weather. The dovecote itself is round - imposing and tall - beautiful in its own way. Will she like to walk here, too, on sunny days? The path is quite sheltered from the bitter North winds that sweep down across the sea.

The dairy is spotless and well-managed, surely she will appreciate the hard work of the farm staff here? Will she come to the dairy? Will she become involved in the workings of the estate in any way? There has not been a mistress at Forbrigg for so many years, I am not certain we will know how to accommodate one.

What does a wife do? What does one do with a wife?

Eccles' wife stood white and still as stone at the funeral this morning. Her eldest son held her hand, but the smaller children clung to the skirts of others. She looked lost.

She will have to vacate the Estate Manager's cottage sooner rather than later, because I will not attract a good man without a decent dwelling for himself and his family. I wish there were someone amongst the ranks of the estate staff I could promote, but John - who would have been the obvious choice - gave his notice not three weeks prior to the accident.

If Sarah's brother can't take her in, I will find a place for her on the household staff. The boy is almost old enough to begin work on the farm after school. They can lodge with the Smiths; I know they need the income.

It feels good to be making decisions, seeking options, finding solutions. I continue in this vein for another half hour as I make my way around the farm buildings, until I double back to the dairy once again. The building is quiet at this time of the afternoon. I know from long experience that only Jessie will be here.

She is singing to herself as she scrubs the cold stone floor on her hands and knees. Her bottom sways as she moves softly from side to side, and slowly backs up towards me where I lean against the doorframe. It is a fine, fine sight.

"I know you are there, my Lord, I see your shadow." She does not stop her work for me though.

"I am enjoying the view, Jessie. How did you know it was I and not another?"

"Well, Sir, who else would stop their work of an afternoon? Besides, I can smell your scent. I would recognise your scent anywhere."

"Really? Is it offensive?"

She finally stops her scrubbing and kneels up to look at me with a smile on her face.

"No, my Lord. Nothing about you is offensive to me. Quite the opposite in fact."

"I see. And how would you feel about demonstrating that to me this afternoon? While I am not at work?"

Her eyes take me in, up and down the length of me, lingering on the bulge that my enthusiastic body failed to control the moment I laid eyes on her rump.

"I would be delighted, my Lord. If you would be so good as to come in and close the door."

Thank the Heavens for sweet girls like Jessie. The loss and anxiety and strain that has surrounded me has left me feeling desperate for a connection, for the warm touch of human skin against my own.

There is something about funerals that make me feel both lost and yearning for something, someone. I don't know what or who, but Jessie is here.

I take off my coat, and the crinkle of thick paper in my waistcoat gives me pause.

"Jessie, I am to be married soon."

"Aye, my Lord, I have heard. Me too, and all."

"You are to be married too?" I am not certain why the news surprises me; Jessie has been a constant companion since childhood. She is attractive, kind, giving – and the most free spirit of my acquaintance. It will take a brave man to tie her down.

"Aye, Sir. Michael asked me and I agreed. We are to be married in the Spring."

"Michael the shopkeeper?"

"The very one, Sir."

"Is this all right, Jessie?" I gesture between us. "Do we do wrong?" I hope we do not – I feel so alone today. Aside from the lead weight in the bottom of my stomach, it is almost as though I hardly exist at all, and could blow away in the winter wind. I need to feel real again – I need an acknowledgement that despite all of the people I have lost, I am still here.

She cocks her head to the side, considering carefully.

"Well, my Lord, perhaps we do. But 'tis only a little bit of comfort for one another, after all is said and done. If either spouse-to-be were to know what we do – and I will never tell, my Lord, not for anything – would either deny us our solace? I don't know your bride, Sir, but I believe if Michael knew, he would be boasting to all and sundry in the Rose and Crown that his Jessie's lips had sucked on a Lord's cock."

I laugh at the image she invokes. She has the measure of her future husband all right. But Isabella – I do _not_ know what she would think.

With over 140 miles between us, it is hard to say that I know her at all. It strikes me anew that I have only known her for a week of my twenty-nine years on the Earth.

She won't know. Jessie is still on her knees in front of me, waiting for my decision. I reach my hands into her soft hair and pull her towards me.

Thank the Heavens for sweet girls like Jessie.

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_24__th__ January 1795_

I have not slept well. A wild storm blew up in the night and battered the house and grounds, but it was feelings of unease that kept me awake.

I fell asleep remembering Jessie's warm mouth and cool hands, but it was Isabella's lips I dreamed of.

She was on her knees in front of me, gazing up at me with trust and innocence written all over her features. Her sister played the piano in the background. "Sing for me sweet angel," I begged, and she opened her lips to begin, but Black's voice interrupted us:

"_That's right, Miss Isabella, that's how you sing for the devil. Open your mouth wide for your husband, my dear."_

I awoke at once, sweating and rolling in my sheets. The rest of the night was spent listening to the wind and rain and wondering what was happening in Wiltshire.

I want to go back. I don't trust Swan or Black. I want to take my angel away from their influence, and I want to do it today.

I need her here, with me.

Instead, I prepare myself for the steady stream of visitors, accounts, questions and answers that will burden my days for the foreseeable future.

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_26__th__ January 1795_

Jasper and I enjoy a meal together this evening, as he is to return to Cambridge on the morrow for his last weeks of study. I have been so grateful for his support since he arrived for the funeral, and I wonder how Em has fared on his own. The Cullen farm is nowhere near as large as Forbrigg's, but there are so many matters to attend to after a death.

Eccles was a good man and a reliable manager, but I do not mourn him in the same way that I mourn the passing of Carlisle. The hardest thing has been having no one to turn to for advice. Jasper has endured no less than three temper tantrums from me in the last few days. My affection for my brother has increased ten-fold for his tolerance.

"Tell me more about my future sister," he says, attacking his meat with the appetite of one who will survive on dubious cooking for the next month or so.

I smile. I think Jasper will like Isabella a lot.

"She is incredibly beautiful, and she has the most angelic voice this side of heaven."

He continues to look at me, expecting more. What more do I know?

"When she smiles at me it is as though the sun comes out."

He laughs. "You sound like a character from a romantic novel, Edward. What does she enjoy? What makes her smile, your arrogant self aside?"

Arrogant? "I _do_ make her smile, you oaf. She sings and reads and embroiders; and she takes care of people. She looks after her mother, and she was wonderful with Carlisle. He loved her."

"She must be lovely, if Mr Cullen loved her." Jasper's smile is kind. "I cannot wait to meet her."

"Will you come with me to Em's wedding?"

"Is the date set, then?"

"Yes. The bans will be read soon, and the date is set for the 28th February."

"I will try my best."

"Thank you, Jasper. Isabella is anxious to meet you too."

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_5__th__ February 1795_

My Angel,

I keep your letters in my waistcoat pocket. Each one remains there until I receive the next. The letter I carry now is a little worn – are you too busy preparing your sister's trousseau to write to me?

My housekeeper, Mrs Clearwater, has drawn my attention to the store of items that my father kept that once belonged to my mother. There are some lovely things. I know they are not fashionable, but I am convinced that fashion does not mean as much to you and your sister as to other ladies of my acquaintance, am I correct? I have not sorted through much of what is here, but I found these shawls. The pink one is for your sister, and the blue one is for you. Please give the shawl Mr Black gave you to your mother, I am sure she will be grateful for it. Do you like this one? I can easily buy you another if you do not.

I await your reply, Angel.

Your Edward

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_10__th__ February 1795_

_My Dear Lord Masen,_

_I apologise for not writing sooner, my father has been away. Thank you for the beautiful shawls. My sister begs me thank you on her behalf. The colours are exquisite, and Father tells me they are from the East. I was not able to give Mr Black's shawl to my mother as he took back his gifts to me as per your instructions. _

_Will you attend my sister's wedding? I pray for the well-being of your staff and estate every day. Alice, our maid, is very ill. May I humbly request that you add her to your prayers?_

_Your Isabella Swan_

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_12__th__ February 1795_

I eye the man across the table from me speculatively. Monsieur Laurent has already convinced me of his knowledge, his ability to adapt, and his personal qualities. To be honest, I can't believe my luck at finding a former landowner, a refugee from France, seeking a position when my own need is so strong.

What concerns me is whether a man who previously employed hundreds will take direction from an employer.

"Where is your family, Laurent?"

"They are - ," he pauses, as though to collect himself; I can see from the deliberate set of his shoulders that he has been preparing to answer this question: " - all dead."

I suspected as much, but to hear his blunt answer is a little shocking.

"I am sorry, truly. Were you married?"

"I was. And I had a son." The pain – no, the anguish I see in his eyes almost deflects me from my purpose, but I cannot employ a man who will not withstand the suspicion and hostility I know my workers will inflict upon him.

"There can be no greater loss, man. I am truly sorry. How do you cope?"

"I pray and I work. What is done cannot be undone."

"Do you know that Oliver Cromwell was born and raised not far from here?"

Laurent looks surprised, whether at the news or the turn I take in the conversation, I am not sure.

"No, I was not aware. What does a military over-thrower of the English Crown have to do with my employment as your estate manager?" This is one of the reasons I like this man – he can be as blunt and to the point as I.

"Well, for one thing, you will not find a Catholic Church in which to pray within fifty miles."

"That does not concern me in the least. I can worship as well in your church as any."

"So you will attend our church, then?" He nods in the affirmative.

"And for another, the people here are insular. The rest of England views them as allies of a violent destroyer, so they tend to keep to themselves. Come to think of it, Boudicca was from near here too – have you heard of her?"

"No, should I have?"

"She was an ancient warrior woman who led an army which fought against Rome. So we breed them fierce, and we breed them independent. You are an outsider - and what's more, you are French, and we currently supply the King's army and navy against the French."

"I understand. You are concerned that I will not be able to lead your staff because they will be suspicious of me."

"That is correct, yes."

He thinks carefully before he answers, and I wait patiently. His dark hair, olive skin, and very dark eyes make him look different, foreign; but his bearing is confident and composed. His features make him look serious and competent. Indeed, he is competent, as I can attest to, having seen him in action over the past two days.

"Lord Masen, I have worked with men from very different parts of the world. Our vineyards attracted workers from far afield, and yet we also had families who worked for us for many generations. They had their differences, but they were the same, also. All men wish to provide for their families, and they respect the people who work hard to make that possible for them. Your men have a great deal of respect and loyalty for you; I have seen it with my own eyes and heard it spoken with my own ears."

This is true. The people who work for me, and for my father before me, are loyal to a fault. I nod, indicating that Laurent should continue.

"If you put your faith in me, Sir, your men will put their faith in me also. I don't expect an easy ride, but know this: your reputation for honesty and integrity was what prompted me to apply for this position. I am a man left with nothing but the clothes on his back and his soul. God will provide for my soul, but my responsibility to God is to continue to live by His word; and His word demands that I seek to employ myself in a manner that will make good use of what I have to offer, and for a man who will trust me to do so. You are a good man, Lord Masen. Let me prove to you that I am a good man also."

"Consider yourself my Estate Manager, Laurent. You are employed."

"Thank you, Sir. You will not regret it."

A weight the size of France lifts from my shoulders and rolls away on the smoky air.

Now to address the troubling letter I received from my Isabella this morning.

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_12__th__ February 1795_

Cousin,

I have this evening employed a man to run my estate. He has been here for two days and will remain here from now on. I am highly relieved. I will have to settle him in, but I will go so far as to say that I trust him sufficiently to be able to confirm my and my brother's attendance at your wedding breakfast. I would be extraordinarily honoured to stand up for you at the service.

Now tell me, Em, what the devil is going on at Seat Manor? I received a very strange letter from my Isabella today, and I am extremely uncomfortable about it. Her tone is off, the style is not hers, and the news contained therein is worrying.

I anxiously await your reply.

Yours etc.,

Edward

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12th February 1795

My Sweet Bride,

I received your last today and was a little concerned at what I read. Firstly, I am glad you liked the shawls, which were indeed from China, but that is beside the point. Mrs Clearwater assured me they were my mother's favourites, so I wanted to send them to my favourite ladies. I imagined the blue colour against your pale, lovely skin and your beautiful hair; and as I picture you in it now, I know that it will be very hard to wait to actually see you wearing it.

Secondly, you must know that I have never asked that Mr Black withdraw his gifts to you, but now that I know that he has, I confess to being pleased. Will you do me the honour of listing all that he has taken from you, so that I may replace it immediately?

Your prayers for me must have been heartfelt because I am happy to tell you that I have this evening found a replacement for Mr Eccles. I am so confident in my choice that I hope to be able to return to Wiltshire in about ten day's time. My brother will accompany me. He is anxious to meet you, and we will stay until my cousin and your sister are married.

Forgive me, Angel, but I do not recall having met Alice. You sound very concerned about her. I will indeed add her health and well-being to my prayers.

Please write to me soon with your list so that I may return to Wiltshire with full hands.

Your Edward

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I am beyond tired this evening. My bed welcomes me so invitingly; I strip off to nothing and throw myself in it, deciding to wash in the morning.

I feel very satisfied with myself. I think my father would have been pleased with how I handled Laurent. His words about my reputation have fuelled my pride a little, I must admit.

My thoughts return to Isabella. I don't understand what it was in the tone of her letter, but I am concerned about her. There is no use in idle speculation, so I think instead of how she will look when I see her next. Perhaps I will buy her some material to make a new dress, one that is just for me. I will ask Mrs C what she thinks in the morning. And a necklace – I would like to see my necklace around her delicate neck. Perhaps something with sapphires – I like to see her in blue.

In my imagination, my eyes focus on a sapphire pendant resting above her creamy white breasts. I see my finger softly stroking the gentle curves above her dress.

When she is my wife she will allow my touch there, and everywhere; the idea excites me beyond any previous dalliance I have ever had.

Isabella will be mine. She will belong to me in every way. There will be no need for subterfuge, or tiresome flirting, or the endless misinterpretation of motive that accompanies sex amongst my class. She will not hunt me, or attempt to bribe, or beguile me when she wants me – she need only ask. The thought makes me smile.

When we are married, I will never have need of another woman again. The relief of this idea surprises me in its intensity.

I recall the expression on her beautiful face when I asked her to marry me. So many emotions flew through her eyes in quick succession – shock; confusion; hope; joy. Tears collected in the corners of her eyes, and I wanted to kiss them away, but it was joy that remained there.

Hope and joy. These are expressions I wish to engender in my lovely angel as often as possible.

How will I take her the first time? I begin to fantasise about our wedding night, and the sweetness I will encounter when she accepts me as her husband.

I grasp a hold of my stiffening cock, as I take the fantasy a little further.

I slowly rub my foreskin up and down over the head of my sex, as in my mind, I strip the dress from Isabella's shoulders. Under it, she wears a ribboned corset that pushes up her small breasts and exposes her nipples. I imagine they are the colour of her lips, a rosy pink, and well-defined. I see myself nestling my head between her breasts, then turning to take one into my mouth. I think about how this will make her writhe and gasp as I suck and nibble at her.

My hand speeds up as I collect the moisture at my tip, and smooth it over my very hard cock. In my fantasy, Isabella is stripped naked now, lying shy and open for my eyes and my manhood. I see my hands spreading her thighs wide, her sex glistening pink and wet for me.

My hips begin to thrust up to meet my hand, as my mind plays the scene. I rub my head over her silky wet skin, before pushing myself deep inside of her. I can almost feel her tight, hot passage giving way to my eager cock.

I grunt as my release shoots from me at the thought of Isabella giving herself to me, accepting her husband inside of her with trust, and warmth, and joy.

The bliss I feel at the close of my fantasy stays with me, as I drift into a dreamless sleep that leaves me deeply refreshed come daybreak.

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_15__th__ February 1795_

_My Dear Lord,_

_Please forgive me if my last letter offended you in any way. I assure you with all my heart that no offence was intended. Your letters are very – Your letters mean so much to me. My father wishes me to pass on the enclosed list, which as you will see, is in __his__ hand. I cannot say that I recall all the items on the list as gifts from Mr Black, but Father tells me that they were._

_Mr Cullen comforts me that you are not, and will not be, angry with me. Perhaps you will have begun your journey here before this letter reaches you. My heart is full at the thought of seeing you again._

_Alice is still weak but is not in danger. Mr Cullen says that I am to speak with you about her when you come. We are all well besides, and very busy with wedding preparations and the like._

_Your Isabella Swan_

_Encs_

_List of items given by Mr W Black to Miss Isabella Swan:_

_3 dresses of finest material_

_1 pelisse_

_1 pair of boots, fur-lined_

_3 pairs of shoes_

_1 shawl_

_1 hairbrush and hand mirror set, silver-handled_

_4 petticoats_

_1 pair of earrings, pearl_

_1 pair of earrings, silver_

_1 gold necklace_

_16 books_

_12 books sheet music_

_1 atlas_

_I oak chest of drawers_

_1 set bed linens_

_Sundry embroidery silks, embroidery hoops, needles and other materials_

_1 Bible_

_1Book of Prayer_

_1 portrait_

_2 likenesses_

_4 paintings in oil_

_8 years of singing lessons, guidance and education_

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15th February 1795

Cousin Edward,

I have noticed that your Miss Isabella has become withdrawn and anxious over the weeks you have been apart, and especially since Alice was taken ill, but until you asked me to address her, I confess I had no inkling of the troubles she has endured.

She is mortified at the letter she has been forced to send you this day and is much afeared that you will cease to hold her in high regard when you receive it. I have assured her that this is not the case and trust you will reassure her immediately.

I have discovered that the reason that she has not ventured out of the house since my father's funeral is because she has been left without outerwear of any kind, as Black – apparently at your instruction! - took from her her boots and shoes, her shawl, her pelisse; and Lord alone knows how many other items. She is not permitted to use any of her mother's things, and while Rose has been more than willing to share, she was forbidden from discussing it with me, and the girls feared that I would notice.

I have further discovered that their maid and companion, Alice, has been so afraid of being turned out onto the streets once both girls are married, that she has stopped eating altogether in an attempt to die before it happens. I have given the girl a very stern talking to and assured her that one of us would take her in. She is ridiculously weak. I had no idea that a person could deny themselves so.

Truth be told, Edward, I have been so caught up in my own affairs since Carlisle's death, I have not paid our Goddesses the attention they deserve and require. The sooner you are able to get here, the better.

Your friend,

Emanuel

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17th February 1795

Dear Brother,

It has come to my attention that I am needed in Wiltshire immediately. I am taking the carriage and will pick you up at midday. I am sorry to give so little notice, but circumstances dictate. I will need to do a little shopping in Cambridge before we leave, so if you do require more time to ready yourself, you may have it, but we must be on the road by two o'clock.

Edward

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"Is it proper to buy petticoats for your betrothed, Mrs C?"

Thankfully, she has agreed to accompany me as far as Cambridge, where she will help me to shop before meeting her sister, who will make sure she gets home safely. She is perusing Isabella's list as we rock along the Ely road in the carriage.

She smiles at me. "It's a strange one, my Lord, but I dare-say it's done all the time. Don't you worry. We'll find some nice things, and I'll send some more on for you if you like."

"I wonder what else she needs that is not on her father's list. What kind of man does this to a girl? She must be humiliated beyond measure." In my anger, I clench and unclench my teeth and fists. "Why didn't he just ask me outright to provide for her? I would have done so; he knows that!"

"It takes all sorts to make a world, Sir. All sorts. I've seen and known worse, Dear."

I nod. I, too, have seen and known daughters badly treated, wives abused, the weak-minded left to starve, and the sick left to freeze. In the position I hold in the community, I am privy to secrets and shame that others leave unexplored.

However, I have never experienced the emotions that clutch at me now, at the knowledge that someone I truly care for has been so ill-used. The violence that shudders through me makes me sick.

I pray I will be able to contain my temper when I face Sir Charles and Black again. Thank the Lord Jasper will be there to accompany me.

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**Still liking Lord Masen?**

**Some of your questions have been answered now, but more have been raised. Click the review button and tell me what they are.**

**A few of you know that my family has been badly affected by the illness known as ME (Myalgic Encephalopathy). There is no cure, and compared to other illnesses with the same devastating effect, little research is being conducted into finding one. A wonderful member of our community has started a fund-raiser for ME research. Please, please support this cause by going to the web page: **_**http:/ fandoms4me .blogspot. com/ **_** (please remove the spaces). **

**Many of you have already been asking to know more about Isabella. PTMT will be entirely from Lordward's POV, but of you would like an outtake from Isabella's POV, please support the ME fundraiser and you will have one. If you have a request for when and where the outtake takes place, let me know.**

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**Next update is in a fortnight (yes, two weeks). ;) I think you will enjoy ch 4.**


	5. Chapter 4  On Earth As It Is In Heaven

**Stephenie Meyer wrote the Twilight saga, and all credit goes to her.**

**This chapter is dedicated to the girls whose education has been cut short by the paucity of family funds; money which is spent on their brothers' school uniform, shoes and supplies, because that is what is culturally acceptable.**

**Cared has spent much of her week creating a fabulous blinkie for PTMT. Please go and have a look at it on my profile. She is a treasure, and I cherish her.**

**Perry Maxwell has put her golden beta touch to my words, even though she has been busy posting a heartbreaking tale of her own. Please take yourselves to her profile page to read it, you will be richly rewarded.**

**Ladies and gentlemen, the moment has come to remove your 21st Century spectacles, and attempt to imagine life through the eyes of men and women who live in a very different time. I challenge you not to attempt to fit my characters' feet into your shoes, but to slip your stockinged feet into their handmade boots, slippers, clogs and sundry footwear available in 1795...**

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Chapter 4 – On Earth As It Is In Heaven

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I recall the reasons I do not shop.

If I was not keen on spending my coins in this manner before, I have been cured for life of the habit by my experiences in the dirty streets and crowded mercantile establishments of Cambridge.

It does not help matters that I am forced to enter my bank not once, but twice, to replenish my purse. I cannot travel to Wiltshire with empty pockets, and the grasping shopkeepers, smelling my slight desperation and great exasperation, milk me for every guinea they can.

The shopkeepers are not the worst of it, though.

At the cobblers, I see a pair of primrose yellow, calfskin boots. They have been crafted for a young lady of Isabella's approximate build and height, and the customer is quibbling over a detail in an attempt to lower their price. Mrs Clearwater nudges me.

She is right – these boots will do for my angel until we can acquire some in Seat.

"Excuse me, Madam," I bow and smile, hoping to charm the petulance from the woman's demeanour.

She looks up at me and startles, before an unseemly grin breaks across her face.

"Yes?"

"Forgive me, but I could not help overhearing your dissatisfaction with these boots."

She blatantly looks me up and down – over my whole body, from head to feet and back again, as I attempt to speak to her. I stare at her, challenging her with wide eyes and a raised brow. She does not appear shamed at all.

"Yes? What of it?"

"I have urgent need of a pair of boots like these, and would be willing to purchase them from you. The cobbler could make you another pair more to your satisfaction, perhaps."

"What's in it for me, Sir?"

"I beg your pardon?" I do not believe I heard correctly. She stares at my chest; she does not raise her eyes to mine when she speaks.

"What do you need a pair of lady's boots for, fine young man like you? What'll you give me for them?"

I ignore the first part of her insolent question. "How much have you paid for them, Madam?"

"One pound and twelve," she says at the same time as the shopkeeper, a wizened, stooping man announces,

"Seventeen shillings."

I think even seventeen shillings is dear for a pair of boots. I sigh in frustration.

"Listen, Love," the woman leans into me, and has the audacity to place her hand on my chest. I step back, horrified, but am hemmed in by the crowded interior of the shop. "I think we can come to some arrangement. I can tell how much you want to take my beautiful boots and run away, but how about this: you pay the man his seventeen shillings and come out to my carriage for a wee while. It's not far off, and my driver can go off for a beer. What do you say?" She leers at me, and from our close proximity, I can smell her body.

I fight my urge to retch and firmly remove her hand from my torso. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose in an effort to keep calm.

"Madam, I have had a long day," I say through gritted teeth, "and I am rather tired. I would like to purchase these boots and be on my way as swiftly as possible. I will give you a pound for them. Please?" At my plea, I open my eyes and gaze at her, smiling slightly – or as widely as I can without grimacing.

Mrs Clearwater, who up until this moment has been a quiet bystander, finally chooses to intervene.

"Pardon me, my Lord," she says, just audible enough for the witch in front of me to hear, "I believe that if we do not depart this instant, we will miss your brother, boots or no."

I nod firmly, and move as if to leave. The grasping witch decides to cut her losses.

"One pound three," she offers. This is the most amount of money I have ever spent on a pair of boots in my life, and they will not even fit Isabella well, made as they are for someone else.

However, beggars cannot choosers be. "Done. Here." I hand over the money, flinching as the woman tries to fondle my hand. I indicate to the cobbler to have them wrapped, and the man throws in some shoe roses in a silent gesture of support.

I thank him gratefully and spin on my heels, whipping out of that airless shop as fast as I am able, making poor Mrs C almost run to keep up.

I have had enough. We have purchased what we are able to, and it is time to get on to the road. I wish to make one last stop.

The bookseller on Kings Parade is a haven of peace. Few women peruse the stacks. I have been known to spend hours in here, browsing over books, maps, journals, music…not today. I hand my list to Mr Buttle, and he reads it, surprised.

"Can you have these delivered to my coach within the next – say – twenty minutes?"

"Yes, my Lord, yes, yes..." he mumbles as he thinks. "Yes, I believe we have all of these. Shall we put them on your account, Sir?"

"If you will. Oh, and Buttle, add some music composition papers, will you?"

"Of course, M'lord. Jack!" He calls the shop boy over, and I explain where the delivery is to be made.

Finally, I am ready to depart. I have deposited Mrs C at her sister's house, and make it back to the coach to find Jasper and Jacob repacking the roof.

Jasper and I embrace. Just his quiet presence relaxes me. Everything will be all right, I think.

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As we rattle and sway our way out of the city, I tell Jasper about my mortifying experiences while shopping. He laughs at my descriptions of inappropriate touching, being hounded by women old and young, and the curious looks and disbelief of shopkeepers as I attempted to purchase items not normally on sale to a single man.

"Why on earth have you put yourself through this?" he asks. It is a fair question.

"I am not certain that I know myself. I mean, I know that Charles Swan promised his youngest daughter's hand in marriage to a most unpleasant friend of his, a clergyman, when she was twelve years old. Mr Black is about the same age as Swan, so I don't know what that tells you about him." I shudder, recollecting his possessive air around the woman who will soon be my wife.

"It tells me that he is a man with twisted principles," says Jasper, watching me closely.

"Agreed. And Swan is no better. He has kept Black in his pocket, dangling Miss Isabella in front of him all these years; then the moment a better offer comes along, he breaks his word. But Black remains in the picture, and somehow between them, they have coerced Miss Isabella into relinquishing her most basic possessions, apparently at my insistence!"

"This sounds like a very unpleasant and confusing situation. Are you sure you want to align yourself with this family? Any number of brides wait out there for you, Edward. You have to be one of the most highly sought after bachelors in the country."

"After the way I was chased through the streets this morning, Jasper, I am not sure I am fond of women at all." We laugh, and I turn to gaze out of the window, hoping my deflection has gone unnoticed.

It has not.

Jasper continues to watch me intently. I can see his face from the corner of my eye. He looks truly concerned.

"Edward?"

"Yes, Jasper," I sigh. He will not let this drop.

"Are you trying to save her?"

"Possibly? Probably? I don't know what I am doing. My proposal to her came as much of a surprise to me as it was to Isabella."

"Being the knight in shining armour may not be the best basis for a long and happy marriage, Edward." I turn back to look at him, my wise brother who has been studying the word of God and human nature; perhaps he knows something about me that I do not.

"What _is_ a good basis for a long and happy marriage, Jasper?"

He smiles at me.

"For longevity, I believe that good health and faith are the only requirements. But for happiness?

I believe happiness requires respect and understanding and love. Do you love her?"

I look down at my knees for a long time as I think this through.

I do respect her. She is kind and caring, and puts others before herself; she is intelligent and diligent; she has talent and skill, and she carefully nurtures both. I have faith that she will take up the role of wife as naturally as a duckling takes to water. Or a Swan, for that matter.

I am afraid that I do not understand her at all. I have never understood women, though I have learned how to read their desires and satisfy their physical needs. Isabella need have no fear on that count.

But I cannot read her, not at all. I cannot fathom the thoughts that hide behind her deep brown eyes. I never know what she is thinking, unless she tells me.

"Have you ever been in love, Jasper?"

"No. No, I can say with absolute certainty that I have never been in love with a woman, although I did once fancy myself smitten with a maid."

I am shocked. "Which maid? Did you sleep with her?"

He laughs. "No, Edward! What do you take me for? She was called Maria. She was French, and she worked in Christ's College. She tried to get me to make love to her, but I told her I was saving myself for marriage."

Now I am shocked again. "Are you?"

"What?"

"Saving yourself? For marriage?"

"Haven't you?"

I run through the list of married women I have slept with in my head. There are four of them, if you include – no, I will not include her. And then there are the trysts of another kind that I have indulged in over the years: all of a sexual nature, but never involving actual penetration. There have been a few of those, too. All kinds of women. They want me, all the time.

I am only human, after all.

I try to explain this to Jasper. It is strange to me that we have not had a conversation like this before now. He is surprised at our different approaches to physical satisfaction, but he does not judge.

Jasper does not judge anyone, ever. I know this to be true.

"When you are married, Edward, will you find it difficult to remain faithful? You are used to taking what you want."

On this point, I am completely certain. "I will always be faithful; I will never stray. The women I have been with – they want me more than I want them. Sometimes it is a comfort to me, to be held, touched, wanted. But when I am married, I will have all of those things, all of the time. I can hardly wait to feel Isabella in my arms, she is exquisite."

Jasper laughs at me again, but he does not understand. "No, really, Jasper, you have not laid eyes upon her. Her beauty, her grace, her warmth – all are unmatched, truly."

My brother still laughs at me. He will see.

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We stop to rest for a few hours at an inn, but Jacob is happy to leave at first light, so we do. The journey is uneventful, and we arrive in Seat well before noon.

Jasper graciously assents to visit the Swans immediately. Em will not be expecting us so early, so it matters not how long we dawdle there.

Before we even pull onto the road the manor house is on, my knee bounces up and down frantically, and I rake my hand through my hair again and again.

Jasper watches me with sympathy.

We pull up in front of the house, and I have the carriage door open and jump out before we are quite at a standstill. I ask Jacob to begin to unload the boxes that are for Isabella, but to remain outside until I call for him.

Jasper stands with a calming hand on my shoulder as we wait at the front door. Johnson's face registers surprise when he opens it at last.

He stands aside, and we enter, removing the hats we have just placed on our heads.

"Is Miss Isabella Swan at home, Johnson?"

"M'Lord," he inclines his head, but seems unsure. "I will inform my master that you are here." He disappears through a small door in the hallway, and we wait in silence.

I rock on my heels, listening for sounds of life in the house, straining to hear anything other than a ticking clock. Jasper smiles at me.

At last, footsteps sound on the floor above our heads, and light feet trip down the mahogany stairs.

I see small slippers, a swirl of skirts around ankles, a tight lavender bodice, and finally the face of my angel comes into view.

She wears my sunshine smile, and my own grin threatens to split my face in two.

We do not speak – I can find no words – but she comes to a standstill in front of me, and I raise my hand to stroke her soft cheek. My fingertips graze across her cheekbone as our eyes lock on to each other's.

My brother clears his throat.

"I am so sorry, let me introduce you to my brother," I say, and she nods, but does not look away.

"This is Mr Jasper Masen; Jasper, Miss Isabella Swan, soon to be Lady Edward Masen."

"How do you do, Miss Swan?"

"I am very well, I am sure, Mr Masen." She has still not turned her gaze away from mine. I long to touch her again, so I reach up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

As I do, I notice a small graze and a light bruise upon her cheek. The muscles in my stomach clench.

"Isabella, are you hurt?" My fingertips stroke the damaged flesh lightly, tenderly.

"It's nothing, my Lord." She still smiles my own smile; I do not push her for more information, in case she stops. I never want her to stop smiling at me in this way.

"So, Miss Isabella, our coachman waits outside for an indication as to our plans," says Jasper, ever the gentleman.

"Oh, please, won't you come in? Father is out on the land at present, but he will return shortly."

"I have some things for you, my sweet, may my coachman bring them in?"

She flushes crimson, and lowers her eyes from mine to gaze at the floor. I reach for her chin and gently push up until she looks at me again.

"Don't, Sweetheart. You are betrothed to me. It is your duty to accept my gifts. Understand?" I speak softly, and although my words sound firm and commanding, my tone does not. She nods, though tears threaten to spill from her eyes. She smiles again.

"Good. That is settled."

Jasper and I turn to busy ourselves with the unloading and shifting of boxes while my angel leaves to organise refreshments.

We decide amongst ourselves to leave the items I have brought with me in the bedchamber that Isabella shares with her sister. Miss Swan has emerged from another part of the house, and shows us the way.

Their room is large, but stark. It smells feminine, and I inhale deeply. A book lies upon one side table; some paintings, recognisably in Miss Swan's style, adorn the walls. One of these is a small likeness of my cousin, which Jasper admires, much to the pleasure of the artist herself.

We stack the boxes along the bare wall under the window, which overlooks the garden. I imagine Isabella standing here and gazing out at the changing seasons, and pause for a minute to think about her. Then I remember that she is just downstairs, and hurry my brother out of the door, bouncing down the stairs and into the drawing room.

I introduce Jasper to Wren, who gazes blankly at the unlit fire. She barely responds. Jasper glances at me anxiously, and I shrug. I still have no idea why she acts the way she does.

Isabella returns, with her sunshine smile intact. I am so happy to be back with her; I wonder how I have stayed away for so long.

The conversation between the four of us is lively. Miss Swan tells us about the preparations for her wedding, and every time she mentions my cousin's name, she lights up like a candle at Christmas. Our frequent laughter and exclamations fill the room with sound, and even Wren smiles on occasion. We are joyful and jolly, until the door swings open, and Sir Charles stares at us disapprovingly from the entrance.

I stand, and Jasper follows. The ladies almost seem to be holding their breath.

"Sir Charles," I greet him, a frown replacing my smile; "we have much to discuss." He looks surprised at my aggressive tone.

"Hm. Lord Masen, we did not expect you. You have made yourself at home, I see. Who have you brought with you?"

"This is my brother, Mr Jasper Masen. Jasper, Sir Charles Swan." Jasper inclines his head.

"Would you like to spend some time alone, gentlemen? I would like to get to know my future sisters a little better," he smiles.

Swan nods and gestures with his head for me to follow him. Before I do, I turn to my angel and take her hand to kiss, smoothing over her knuckles with my thumbs as I smile reassuringly at her.

"Please excuse me, Sweetheart. I will not be long." She bites her lip anxiously, but smiles shyly at me, so I kiss her hand again before I turn to find her father. He is staring at me with consternation, and I narrow my eyes at his ignorant manners towards his family.

Even in his own study, Swan appears to be ill at ease with me. He shuffles on his feet before the sash window, silently gesturing for me to take a seat. I decline – I will not sit if he does not. I am not an amateur.

"Cards on the table, Sir," I say. He looks sharply at me.

"What do you mean, Lord Masen?"

I splay my two hands wide upon his desk and lean towards him.

"Explain your behaviour with regards to your daughter. I want to know everything."

"There is nothing unusual in my behaviour towards Isabella, Lord Masen. I don't know what you mean."

I wait in silence. He will fill it, as soon as he understands I mean business. After a moment of silent staring, in which I do not relax my stance, he concedes.

"My daughter is – Black was very angry with me when I told him of our plans for Isabella. He threatened me. When I did not back down, he decided to punish us. He had the girl bring him every gift he had ever given her, every single item had to be accounted for, and he took them away. I allowed him his tantrum in my house so that he could get it all out of his system and be friends again. He is a useful friend to have."

"Continue," I say.

"I had to go away shortly after his outburst. The girls were left alone in the house. Under normal circumstances, Black would have stood as their protector, but he needed time to cool off. Isabella may have been – a little confused during this time. She needed to be kept under control. She was not to leave the house – she had to care for her mother, besides. She wrote to you when I returned, did she not?"

"You are not making any sense, man. Why did you leave my fiancée without the most basic possessions for all this time?" My voice is raised. I attempt to control it. "What the devil is going on? Are you in financial difficulty? Can you not afford to keep your daughters?"

He bristles and glares at me, takes a step towards me and leans in.

"My financial affairs are no concern of yours, Masen. Isabella is your responsibility now. You must take care of her needs."

"I will happily take care of her every need, but if you do not keep me informed as to what her needs are, how do you expect me to do so? How am I to fathom that she has no footwear, or indeed provide her with any? Why do you confine her to the house? That is not my wish!" I am shouting again, and my spittle flies through the air and lands on Swan's shoulder.

We are almost nose-to-nose across his desk.

"You told me you would compensate Black, and you have yet to do so; I cannot let Isabella leave this house because while she is under my roof, I can protect her." Abruptly, he pulls away from me again, and moves back to perch his bum upon the windowsill. He breathes deeply, calms himself, then continues.

"Black is angry. He has a mean temper. I know what he is capable of, and I do not want to put him in the position of acting his fury out. Things will go much better for all of you if you give him his money and act as though nothing untoward has happened."

I am astounded. "How much money does he want?"

"Four hundred pounds would make him happy. Give him four hundred pounds, and he will drop all claims to Isabella."

The amount seems both pathetically small and dishonourably huge.

"You want me to purchase Miss Isabella from Black for four hundred pounds?"

"It is not a purchase, you ..." He cuts himself off before he swears at me. "She is not livestock, and I will thank you not to talk of my daughter in that way. It is compensation for his loss. Black has helped me out in many ways, and he placed all his expectations of happiness in Isabella. He invested time and money in her upbringing. He is my friend. You have the means – you can make this right."

"There is nothing right about this situation, Swan. You call a man who threatens you, who you believe to be a danger to your daughter, _Friend_?"

"He is only a danger while he is angry. When he calms down, he will see reason. He has been a good friend to me, Masen, and I have deliberately let him down. Despite all he has done for all of us, I chose you over him for my daughter. You are whom she wants. You can make this right."

I stand and stare at him, my mind a whirlwind of thought and unanswered questions. Swan does not drop his gaze. Eventually I nod.

"You are right; I can make this right. I will give your friend his four hundred pounds, and he will cease all contact with her. He will not address her, or frighten her, or contain her within her home. He will not be in her presence at all unless I am here at her side. I will provide for all of Isabella's needs, she can have anything her heart desires, but you must undertake to inform me of them, because she will clearly not do so herself. You will facilitate our marriage at the earliest opportunity, so that I can take her back to Norfolk with me. Are we clear?"

"Indeed, we are." He reaches out a hand to shake; I reluctantly give him mine.

"How long are you staying in Seat?"

"We can only remain until my cousin and Miss Swan marry. I have left my estate in the hands of a new manager – I cannot leave him for long."

"Then will you dine with us tonight? I have a business proposition for you."

I shake my head, more in disbelief at the man's audacity than in refusal.

"We should dine with Mr Cullen. He is expecting us. We will come tomorrow." He nods in assent.

"I would like to spend some time with my betrothed, now. It is a fine day; she must wish to leave the house. We will walk. There is a new pair of boots for her in her room."

I want to see her use those damned boots, but more than anything, I want to be in her presence. Just my angel and I, alone.

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Jasper, Em and I have been out hunting. We relax with a glass of wine before we head back to the Swans' to dine.

Jasper has met the maid that Isabella was concerned about. The ladies had asked him to speak to her while I was arguing with their father the day we arrived.

"She looked so frail and delicate," he says; "I can't believe she is strong enough to work."

"Has she been eating?" Em asks.

"She told me that she was made to eat twice a day, but that the food would not stay inside of her for more than a half hour."

"Has she seen the physician?" I ask.

"I paid for the visit myself," says Em; "He could not say what ails her. She does not appear to have an obstruction in her gut or anything else he can put his finger on."

"In your letter you said she was denying herself, Em. What is all that about?"

He huffs, a great breath of air that signifies his frustration with the situation.

"From what I can piece together, Swan told the girls that when they left home, Alice would have to go with them or find herself out on the street. She has no family – she was plucked from a school for girls when she was little, where there was no disclosure as to her parentage. Alice overheard Swan and decided that the least trouble she could be would be to die before it happened. At least, that is what she told me – she did not breathe a word of this to her mistresses."

"Did you tell her you would take her in, Em?"

"Naturally, Edward. But I think much of the damage had been done by then. She has never been very strong – she was always a little slip of a thing, according to Rose. But you know, Ed, it's Isabella that she loves the best. You should have her come with you."

I put my hand to my forehead and prop my head on my knuckles. I feel heavy with the complexities of this marriage business.

"Isabella will need a maid, I suppose. And if she is someone she loves, she ought to come to us. What do you think, Jasper?"

"I don't believe she will be a burden, Brother. She seemed a little lost, a little weak, but in the right environment, she will regain her strength, I think. And Miss Isabella would be happier."

For a moment, I stiffen at my brother's assumption that my bride will not be completely happy in her new home, with or without her maid. Then I recollect how strange it will be for her to be in Norfolk, and I relax again.

"Will you counsel the maid while we are here, Jasper? You can practice your clergyman's manner on her."

He smiles at me, his bright blue eyes, so similar to my mother's, shining in the afternoon light.

"Of course. You can count on me, Edward."

"I know. Come on boys, get on your feet, we have a pair of goddesses to attend to." I slap my thighs, and we jump up, pushing and wrestling our way to the door. Something about Cullen House really brings out the schoolboy in me.

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The week has flown past, and though I have managed to avoid Mr William Black's uncomfortable and brooding presence so far, I know that at the wedding itself, a meeting will be unavoidable. Besides, Jasper and I must leave after the breakfast, and I want to ensure Black understands my terms before I depart.

Em thoughtfully hosts a dinner for the men involved in the wedding ceremony at Cullen House on the eve of the nuptials. He tells me that the women are preparing for the following day in any case, and do not wish for our company.

Isabella and I have barely left each other's sides until this evening. Aside from a few manly pursuits to keep Em and Jasper happy, we have been talking and walking and dining together all day, and long into the evenings.

She has sung for me everyday. Miss Swan's nose has been a little out of joint, as I have taken her place at the piano. Many hours have passed rapidly as we have compared favourites, and sung and played our way through our respective repertoires. It was my intention to compose a piece for my angel to sing, but in truth, I would far rather spend my hours at her side, indulging ourselves with pleasure.

As we wait for Black and Swan to arrive, we entertain ourselves in the library. I wonder whether the women would be surprised if they knew that they are our only topic of conversation.

"Well, Jasper? What do you think of Miss Isabella?" asks Em, his dimples creasing his face – I do not recall ever seeing him this happy, even though I would have described him before now as the most content man I have ever known.

Jasper grins at me. "I think she is just as advertised," he says.

"Well, how was she advertised, man?"

"I am not certain that I can recall the exact words, but I believe she has been found to be the most beautiful, graceful and warm creature in all existence. And she sings like an angel. There's more, all true, but I could go on all evening reciting her appealing qualities as defined by my independent bachelor brother."

"Hah!" says Em, "I knew you were smitten, Masen, even before you proposed to her. You couldn't take your eyes off her from the moment you met her. You will always be in my debt, you know."

"I would rather be in your debt than that scoundrel Black's," I mutter.

"We can't piss the man off too much, Edward, he's marrying us in the morning."

"I know Em, I know. And somehow he remains the bosom friend of our father-in-law, too."

"I would like to know what hold he has over Swan. Jasper, you talk to him – tell him you want advice on being a vicar or some such nonsense; see what you can get out of him," says Em.

Jasper grimaces.

"Please, Jasper. Neither Em nor I will be able to elicit anything from him, he hates us both."

I look pleadingly at my brother, and right on cue, the unwelcome pair is announced.

Em slaps Jasper on the back. "We're agreed then, young man. Into battle with you."

So the uncomfortable evening commences.

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I remind myself, more than once, that this is the last meal I will have to eat with William Black.

Sadly, this comfort is not true – Black will attend tomorrow's wedding breakfast, as he recklessly reminds me over cheese and port.

"And when will your own wedding breakfast be?" he sneers at me.

"As soon as it can be – not soon enough," I say, turning to Em in the hope of moving the conversation on.

Black is not having it, though. He clearly does not understand the danger he is in.

"She is a handful, that girl. I hope you have more patience than I - she needs a damned firm hand to tame her. Apparently, I never succeeded," he says.

I rise and am in front of him with my hands upon his collar before either my brother or my cousin can react.

I pull him out of his chair by his clothes, up to my eye level. "Don't you ever – ever! - speak of, or to, _my_ betrothed again!"

He stares at me with fear and surprise, and something else in his eyes; perhaps envy? Respect?

I feel Em's big hand slap onto my shoulder. I release Black, and he falls back into his chair.

"Understand?" He nods at me, and I walk back around the table to my own chair. Jasper is staring at me in consternation, and Swan, the buffoon, can barely control his amusement. I turn to him.

"I do not want to, but I have to leave Isabella in your care while I return to my estate. Please arrange for our wedding to take place at the earliest opportunity. In the meantime, as I said before, Mr Black is to lay no claim to her. He is not to address her, or speak of her to another party, or spend any time in her presence unless she attends church or unless their proximity is completely unavoidable. I have paid my four hundred pounds for my peace of mind, and I expect my wishes to be fulfilled. Are we clear?"

Swan winces at my mention of the money, and glances at his friend. I follow his eyes, and find that Black is steaming with fury.

"What four hundred pounds?" he hisses through his teeth.

Swan narrows his eyes at him. "Your compensation, Black. We discussed this."

"When were you planning to give me the money, Swan?" He almost spits the last word. Jasper and Em look back and forth between the furious man and his so called friend, ready to break up another fight.

I know that Black is too much of a coward to fight Swan, and Isabella's father is too calculating to provoke him.

Em decides he's had enough. He stands.

"Well, gentlemen, we have an early start in the morning, and a tremendous event to look forward to. I, for one, am in need of my bed. It might be the last full night of sleep I get for a while," he grins, and nudges my shoulder as I stand, too.

I watch as it occurs to him that he is making innuendos about sleeping with Swan's daughter, and he blanches a little, but he need not have concerned himself. Swan is not listening to his words, only his general tone. He keeps his eyes on the vicar as he rises to make ready to leave. As Black travelled here in Swan's carriage, he has no choice but to leave with him as well.

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The day of the wedding dawns bright and hopeful, but soon turns to dark clouds and rain. Em is not perturbed; the weather has no impact at all on his buoyant mood.

The bridal party arrives, and my eyes seek out the soft brown ones which bring my sunshine with them. She gazes at me with what I think may be longing – or perhaps I am attributing my own emotions to her.

We smile at one another until Miss Swan walks down the aisle on her father's arm.

The ceremony is surprisingly brief, and before we know it, Mr and Mrs Emanuel Cullen walk back through the church, and skip through the rain to the waiting carriage outside.

I clasp Isabella by the elbow, and pull her by my side to the door of the church. Not wanting to muddy those primrose yellow boots of hers, I scoop her up into my arms and carry her quickly to Jacob, who opens the door of my carriage so that I can push her inside.

Her shrieks of surprised laughter meet me as I climb in behind her, shaking the water off my head and onto her pretty dress.

"My handsome hero," she giggles, "you have rescued me from the downpour!"

"Well, I cannot have my damsel in watery distress, can I?"

Jacob pokes his head through the driver's slot. "Mr Masen is leaving with Sir Charles and the vicar, M'Lord."

"Good, let us go then."

He pulls his head back through, and I call out to him again: "Jacob? Drive slowly."

I can just see him tip his hat at me and grin. I turn to the smiling girl at my side.

"Now then, Miss Isabella Swan." She gazes at me with wide, innocent eyes.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"While we are alone, I would just like to try one thing. Keep very still, and close your eyes." She does as I ask, bracing herself against the rocking of the carriage. Hard to tame, my backside.

I lean down and breathe in her sweet, sweet scent. Her rosy lips are plump and virginal, slightly parted, pulling air rapidly in and out as her pulse quickens. I can see the blood pulsing in a vein in her neck, through her almost translucent skin.

Slowly, gently, I place my lips upon hers. It is the sweetest of kisses. A tiny gasp escapes her mouth and enters my own. I pull away, and smile happily down at her.

"You may open your eyes now, Angel."

She does, and I see something in them that I have not before.

I have awakened desire in my innocent angel, and I can hardly wait to fulfil it.

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**Dear readers, reviewers, champions and all who participate in this fabulous interaction, I thank you.**

**I've been reading some wonderful stories lately, would you like some recs? Look them up on or Google them:**

**A story that owns my heart (and if you understand my themes, you will understand why) is Beautiful Sorrow by DreamOfTheEndless .**

**Something refreshingly different, fun and skilfully accomplished: Speaking in Code by mamabean.**

**And don't forget Unrequited by my dear Perry Maxwell.**

_**Please tell me in a review – is Edward in love? ****What do you think is going on with Isabella?**_

_**Don't forget that I will be posting an outtake from Isabella's POV for Fandoms4me . Blogspot . com.**_

**I am Gingerandgreen on Twitter. Next update in a fortnight.**


	6. Chapter 5  I Take Thee

**Written in acknowledgement of the story telling talent that has been gifted to Stephenie Meyer; most characters and some of the ideas here belong to her.**

**This chapter is dedicated to runaway kids, who turn their backs on pain and risk all to seek a new adventure. Their tragedy is in the danger they encounter beyond the safety of the known. May their strength preserve them until they find the kindness of a hero.**

**Perry Maxwell and Cared know how I feel about their help because they read my interview on SYTYCW dot blogspot dot com. Thank you, Sue!**

**WARNING: If you have journeyed this far with me, you will know that this story references all aspects of life, violence and abuse included. This chapter contains explicit reference to child abuse. It happened then, and it happens now, and I believe that we ought never close our eyes to it. Let's hold hands for the ride.**

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**Chapter 5 – I Take Thee**

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_4th__ March 1795_

I have been out in the weak sunshine since early morning. The lambing has begun well, and the spring crops are all sown. There is a bustling efficiency about the Estate that quells any concerns I may have had about Laurent. Even the household staff appears more confident as they go about their business. Life at Forbrigg is settling back down to normal.

Samuels brings me the morning post, and I am surprised to find a letter from my cousin. I would have thought him far too occupied to write. I open it quickly, fearful of news I do not wish to hear from Seat Manor.

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2nd March 1795

My Dear Fellow!

I hope this letter finds you well. I trust negotiations with the devious Sir Charles continue apace, and that you are all set for an April wedding. Miss Isabella visited with us yesterday, and she has a fine sparkle to her eye. She was clutching a letter that looked to have Lord Masen written all over it. I believe she wished to show the contents to my dear wife but felt herself unequal to the task. Rose does not feel well.

I write to warn you, my friend, of what may pass upon your wedding night. I know you will prefer it if I am frank. It has been two nights since our glorious marriage, but I regret to say, our union remains incomplete. That wretched Wren has either put poison in our girls' minds, or she has put nothing there at all. My innocent Rose knew nothing of what marriage entailed beyond a kiss, and expected the kiss to be unpleasant at that. To my chagrin, I did not understand the depth of her bewilderment, and I am afraid I pushed her too far. She wept, copiously. My heart is broken, but my spirit is not. I will gentle her out of her fear if it is the last thing I do in this realm. I love Rose with all my heart, as you well know, and her sister's happiness is next in line. You have received my warning, dear Friend, and I know you will take heed.

Tell Jasper he is more than welcome to visit and remain with us for some time after your wedding. Rose is delighted at the thought of entertaining our first guest. At least in that way I can make her happy!

I am enclosing a letter from Miss Isabella, which she did not wish to send from home. I will not speculate upon her reasons - you devil.

Yours etc,

Em Cullen

Encs

_1st__ March 1795_

_My Very Dear Lord Masen,_

_I received your letter this morning and still blush at your kind words. I hope your business affairs are not __too__ affected by your musings of me. I know men put business before everything, and it would distress me greatly to have your affairs in disarray because you have been distracted by your thoughts._

_Speaking of distress, I am a little troubled. You have told me to tell you of any matter that concerns me immediately, and I do not wish to risk your ire; so I will share my fears with you, my Lord. It pertains to Rosalie's reaction to her wedded bliss. She called me to her this afternoon, and I went as soon as Father released me. On my arrival, I was shown into her chamber, where she lay in bed, quietly weeping. She would not tell me what ails her, but begged me write you and ask you to explain what marriage entails, before you take my hand. _

_Dear __Sir__, you know our lives have been very sheltered. Poor Wren does not suffer company for long, and my father keeps us from London and other grand places. I like to think myself more worldly than Rose, as I read and she does not, or only rarely. But in truth, one cannot experience life through novels, and they always seem to end at the wedding chapel. I confess: she has me very anxious. I do not want to disappoint you; this is my greatest concern. If there is something I should do to prepare myself, please tell me now. I want to please you in all things, and I cannot see how lying abed, weeping and entertaining my sister (as Rose does) could possibly please you._

_Mr Cullen wishes me to convey his good wishes to you. He is a little subdued, but optimistic that whatever ails Rose will soon be forgotten._

_I am yours,_

_Isabella _

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I am stunned, both by Em's news and by my angel's confession.

I have always thought my cousin to be a gentle man, as well as a gentleman. Granted, he is large in frame and build, and his inability to remain still for long can be intimidating to those who do not know his character. Surely, his bride knew his character.

The sisters' innocence gives me pause. Here I have been fantasising, night after night, about taking Isabella's virginity; whereas the reality of the situation is that I have never yet taken the innocence of any woman, and I do not know how it will go.

If Em has gone so far as to inadvertently terrify his wife, I will have to think very carefully about how I will go about the task.

My mind skips over all those of my acquaintance who could possibly offer me some advice. The only person I can think of to turn to is old Mr Webb, the vicar. I make a note in my head to pay him a visit this very morning.

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Mrs Webb ushers me into the parlour, where her husband sits wrapped in a rug in front of a small fire. He has shrunken over the years, and obviously finds it difficult to raise his aching bones from his chair. I urge him to remain seated, and draw up a low chair to place myself at his side.

"It's good to see you, young man. How is that brother of yours? Still angling to take my place in church on Sundays?" He wheezes his laugh at me, and I cannot but speculate as to how long he can maintain his place as vicar of a thriving parish.

I smile at him. "Mr Masen is well, and itching to relieve you of your burdens. He is not quite ordained yet, though. You will have to wait a little while longer, old man."

"Old man indeed! I'll have you know, Lord Masen, I'd been vicar for many years before I married your parents. I have seen and heard it all, and nothing ever changes. You are getting married yourself, I hear?"

"I am." I picture introducing my angel to the good vicar and his wife, explaining to her as I do so that this is what a man of God is truly like. Black could not be further from the ideal if he tried.

"My eyes are not good, young Lord, but I see the expression on your face. You are so like your father. He was just the same when he married Elizabeth."

"Is that so?" This is interesting – I had not thought that Mr Webb would have counselled my father before his marriage, but of course he would have. The men were fairly close, and my mother and Mrs Webb became good friends. Every church festival and village fête involves the old lady regaling my brother and me with tales of '_your father's young beauty_'. I realise now that she was keeping my mother alive for me; and bringing her to life for Jasper, who never knew her warmth and love.

I am struck by how grateful I am to have had these kind people in my life. I do not think Isabella has been as lucky. Perhaps Carlisle fulfilled that role for her. I fervently hope so.

"So what is on your mind, young man? Unburden yourself."

"I came for some friendly advice about marriage, Sir."

"I do not give advice, Lord Masen; you know this well." I frown slightly at this – how am I meant to learn, if I cannot seek advice?

"Well, may I ask you some questions then, Mr Webb?"

"Indeed you may; fire away."

I have already decided the direct approach is best. "I am concerned about my wedding night. I would like to know how to ease my wife's – um – initiation into marriage."

"That is not a question, Sir. Try harder."

I laugh. This conversation is not going my way.

"Please would you tell me how to take my wife's maidenhood without causing her pain?"

Mr Webb guffaws; there is no other description for his laugh. I cannot help laughing at myself too.

"No, I will not tell you that." His clouded eyes still have a twinkle to them, and the old vicar winks at me. Now I am really laughing at myself. I must sound like such an eager young innocent, when all I wanted to be was confident, honest and manly. _Hah_.

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because it is not possible. A woman is burdened with pain at many times in her life, and the breaking of her virginity is one of them. But that pain is nothing compared to the pain she will experience in childbirth. If there is one thing about marriage that is certain, it is that you will cause your wife pain. And not merely physical pain, either." He leans a little closer to me and reaches out a liver-spotted hand to pat my shoulder.

"Women are strong, Sir. You may think of them as the weaker sex, but mark my words, they are in general a lot stronger than you or I. You want to protect your bride; this is a wonderful thing, and you are a good man for it. But there are some things that you cannot protect her from, and you may as well get used to it now. Just be yourself, Lord Masen; you will make mistakes, but your wife will survive them."

"Was that advice, Mr Webb?"

"No, no, no. You will receive no advice on women from me. First lesson I learned when I was ordained. Never forgot it." I can see his thoughts drifting to an earlier time. I thank him for his wise words and rise to make my leave.

It seems I am doomed to hurt my wife before we have even begun our lives together.

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I sit in my library and reach for paper and ink. Writing to Isabella has become my favourite pastime while we are apart, but this letter requires a little more thought than most.

_4th__ March 1795_

My Darling Isabella,

I hope you have received my gift. Your last sweetly worded letter has opened my eyes to your honesty and your innocence. I have heard from Em myself, and you know he rarely writes, so the matter must be serious. Poor Rose.

Isabella, when we are man and wife, there will be circumstances that you are not accustomed to. You will find, for instance, that Forbrigg is a rather grander estate than the Manor House of Seat. The residents of Forbrigg look up to us, and I have many people to introduce you to. I wish to show off your beauty, wit, and accomplishments to my friends and acquaintances, but I confess that until I read your letter, I had not thought of how difficult you may find the change. Do not be frightened, my Love. As your husband, I will take care of you. You must promise to always tell me if you are anxious or afeared, and I will find a way to guide you.

As for the physical side of marriage, my dear, you must prepare yourself for a union in which you give your body to me, as well as your soul. I swear on my life that I will be gentle with you, and you will find it pleasurable. I will not lie to you; at first you may experience some pain, but Isabella, you must trust me. Life is never without pain, and if you wish to bear my children, it is God's will that it will hurt and hurt you greatly. However, I will confess that I have lain with other women, and they have experienced much pleasure at my hands. I am sorry to confess this to you in a letter, my darling, but a man and his wife should have no secrets, as my father used to advise. I hope you will forgive me my past; and I need no vicar to oversee my promise to you to remain faithful for the rest of eternity. Do you trust me?

For my own part, I am excited beyond measure at the thought of taking your innocence and gently teaching you the delights of marriage. You could never disappoint me, my Beautiful, do not even think the word. I command you to remove it from your vocabulary forthwith.

I remain truly yours,

Edward

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The following day brings another unwelcome missive. This one is from Sir Charles. I begin to wonder how he came upon the title.

In fact, I decide this is a matter I will look into. Everything is not as it seems at Seat Manor; I begin to suspect foul play of one kind or another.

Whatever I find, however, will not deter me from removing my angel from her father's influence at the earliest opportunity. I will marry her come what may. And soon. I will tolerate no further delays. I write in reply immediately.

_5th__ March 1795_

Sir Charles

I thank you for your letter, which indeed found me in good health, though impatient. I trust you and yours are equally healthy and in good spirits in anticipation of our upcoming nuptials.

I wish to clarify some points of our agreement that concern me. First, I would remind you that you have already consented to my and Isabella's marriage. Your permission was publicised widely throughout the community of Seat and that of Forbrigg, and word of our wedding is already circulating in London and Bath, where you and I have many acquaintances in common. If I am given to understand that you wish to withdraw your permission until I have settled my business upon yours to your satisfaction, I will not hesitate, at the risk of hurting Miss Isabella's feelings, to publicise your withdrawal and the reasons behind it, equally widely. Good Sir, I beg you not to put me in the position of hurting your daughter, as it will excite my wrath above all things.

Secondly, I have explained my position about the supplier of machinery to my pumps at great length. I understand you have invested time and money in supporting the company you refer to in your letter, and that you stand to benefit a great deal if you can increase their business. I know that you also understand that my estate, and many of those around me, would lose a significant amount if the supplier we currently use were to fail. I implore you to see reason, and to separate the demands of family and commerce.

I love your daughter and wish to take her hand early in April. I calculate that the 6th will be the earliest opportunity. I will not tolerate further procrastination. Instruct your vicar to begin reading the bans, Sir Charles. As your son in law, you stand to benefit from my addition to your family for decades to come. As your enemy, Sir, you stand to lose a great deal.

On that note, I must ask you to speak to your wife about preparing Isabella for the joys of matrimony. I am sorry for the impertinence of this request, but it has reached my notice that Mrs Rose Cullen was ill-prepared for her wedding night, and I will not have Isabella in the same distressed state.

Yours, etc.

Edward Masen

Lord of Forbrigg

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_6th__ March 1795_

My Dear Jasper,

I know you are very busy at present, but once again I must ask your assistance with regard to my coming nuptials. I begin to suspect Sir Charles' behaviour is motivated by nefarious choices, and as knowledge is power, I need to learn more about him. I am asking you to explore his history as far as you are able – you will have more resources in Cambridge than I have access to in Norfolk. I rely on your discretion without trepidation. I am sorry to ask this of you, but I fear for Isabella's well-being.

I am hoping for a wedding at the beginning of April, the 6th, if possible.

The vicar and Mrs Webb pass on their regards – perhaps you could drop them a few lines?

Your Loving Brother,

Edward

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_12__th__ March 1795_

Once again, I have spent a restless night, and am up and out of the house as the sun rises. I decide that a long, hard ride will do me good, and begin to make my way to the servant's quarters to rouse Jacob. I am distracted by the sound of raised voices, and change my path to encompass the courtyard behind the kitchen.

As I round the corner, I am amused by the sight of Cook brandishing a long-handled pan at Laurent's head, while a boy cowers behind him. I can make out their words now.

"The boy deserves a beating, and you know it! Let me at him," screeches Cook. To his credit, Laurent does not flinch, though the boy does.

"Beating this child will not bring your chickens back to life. He is under my care, and if you feel the need to beat the responsible party, you will have to strike me, Madam."

"Don't you _Madam_ me, Sir! I have hundreds of mouths to feed, and what am I going to feed them on with no eggs? Did you leave the door to the hen house unlatched? Did you let the fox mutilate my prize-winning hens? Because if you did, believe me, I will not hesitate to beat you too. That's how we do things around here, you, you... Frenchman!"

I wonder whether to intercede. Laurent does not look in the least intimidated, so I decide to bide my time. He turns to the boy.

"Will, go and clean up your mess. Salvage the chickens that can still be eaten and bring them to Cook; the rest you must burn. Are there any birds left alive?"

"There may be some escaped to the woods, Sir." Poor lad, his voice trembles as much as his knees.

"Then you must search for them as soon as the hen house is clean. And by clean, boy, I mean pristine. Understand?" The boy nods his head, rapidly. "We will discuss your punishment later, when we have all calmed down. Off you go!" The lad runs off in relief, as fast as his little legs will carry him.

Laurent turns back to Cook. "I understand your anger, my dear. You have put a great deal of time and energy into rearing those beautiful birds, and your work will be made difficult without them."

Some of the tension leaves Cook's shoulders, and she lowers her pan to fold her arms across her bosom. Laurent takes a step towards her and reaches out a comforting hand to her shoulder, all the time engaging her eyes in the same way that you would to gentle a frightened horse. I am surprised to see a hint of a smile reach the corners of her mouth.

He continues, much more gently: "If I have learned one thing in my life, it is this: never, ever strike in anger. You will only live to regret it. Understand?"

She nods, subdued. "Yes Sir."

"Good. I will see what I can do about immediate replacements, and I will work with you to build up your flock again. And if there is anything else I can do, you need only ask." He smiles at her, and she smiles back and pats his hand where it still rests on her shoulder.

They turn to go and Laurent spots me. He smiles wryly as he makes his way towards me. Perhaps this is the man I should have turned to for prenuptial advice. As he draws close, I reach up and slap him on the back.

"Well handled, Man. The sun is barely up and you have averted a crisis."

"Thank you, your Lordship. What brings you out so early, Sir?"

"I plan an early morning ride to the beach. Care to accompany me?" He looks wistful but shakes his head glumly.

"I would like nothing more, but I have made promises that I may find hard to keep."

"Go to the Wilsons', they keep large flocks. They'll be happy for the trade. Tell them Cook sent you. They have long been rivals at the Summer Fair and will be delighted at her loss but eager to replace her hens."

"Thank you, Sir, I will do that."

He salutes me, and we walk to the stables together. Jacob is up and about, bossing the stable lads around and preparing for a visit from the farrier. Laurent sets off in the cart to the Wilsons', and I help to saddle my mount, which is itching for a run. She senses my impatience to be off and twitches her ears, snorting at my ministrations. At last she is prepared, and I walk her into the yard, slip my foot into the stirrup, then swing my leg over the saddle in a swift and easy move. As soon as my backside hits the leather, we are off.

We canter out of the estate and gallop along the bridle path that leads to the coast. Only a mile separates Forbrigg from the sea, but there are cliffs that make the beach inaccessible for most of the aligning coastline. The path I take is three miles long and leads to a natural indentation with easy access to the pebbled beach.

The landscape, as in most of Norfolk, is flat and very green. It is still early enough for wildlife to be out and about, and our heady rush for freedom startles flocks of birds. An old badger, large and lumbering, strolls across our path, and the horse and I simultaneously decide to jump over him rather than ride around him. We are so in tune with one another, it takes only the slightest twitch of my thighs against her sides and a quick release of the reins, and we fly over the unconcerned beast.

As we near the coast, I can smell the brine in the air, as well as smoke from a driftwood fire. We slow down and walk on to the beach, where the pebbles lie thick and heavy; they are difficult for horses to navigate, but I am curious as to who is on the beach at this hour. This is not the usual stretch for fishermen.

Rounding a corner of the rising cliff-side, in a small indentation, we come across a pitiful sight.

Two men, soldiers by the look of them, lie sprawled and asleep on the stones next to a blazing fire. A small boy – he can't be more than ten years old – with a split and swollen lip and a bloody nose sits huddled in to himself, feeding driftwood into the flames at a steady pace. He is snivelling quietly, so involved with his misery, he does not hear us approach.

I dismount and walk towards the nearest soldier, pushing his backside with my foot. He rolls but does not stir. I notice the empty gin bottle – killer stuff, that. I crouch down next to the boy and tap him gently on the shoulder.

"Lad? What are you doing here?"

He startles and turns huge brown eyes upon me. They are terrified and red-rimmed, but for all that, they remind me of my angel. Thin, pale and undernourished, the boy is nevertheless beautiful in some way. I suspect I know what the soldiers have been using him for. Disgusting pigs.

He does not speak to me. "Are you from around here, boy?" I keep my voice gentle and even. He shakes his head. "Do you have a family, a home to go back to?" Again, he shakes his head. At least I know that he speaks English.

I stand and look around me. There are two kit bags, and inside one of them, I find some strong twine. Moving to the first soldier, I pull his hands behind him and roughly bind them together. I use the soldier's own knife to cut the twine, then bind his ankles in the same way. I do the same to the second soldier, a burly man with dark curls on his stained neck. He grunts but does not wake. All the time, the boy watches in silence, his huge eyes following my every movement.

I walk back to the boy, crouch down again, and offer him my hand. He stares at me, bewildered. "Come on, Lad. Let us clean you up. I am going to lift you now, all right?" He just stares at me but does not flinch when I reach for him and hoist him into my arms. He is as light as a feather.

I trot gently back to Forbrigg, holding the frightened child in front of me. At first he is stiff and shakes wildly in my arms, but gradually he begins to settle; and by the time we reach the stable yard, he has relaxed into me, barely fighting off sleep. When he sees the curious eyes of my staff and the farrier, though, he begins to shake and shudder again. He clings to me, making it difficult to dismount.

"Jacob," I call my man over to me, "Send someone down to the constable's straight away and tell him he will find two deserters trussed up on the beach. And fetch Mrs C for me, will you? I think the boy needs a woman's touch." Voices rise around us as my staff spring into action. Jacob holds my mount as I slide off, the waif clinging like a limpet to my chest. He can't be much younger than the lad I saw cowering behind Laurent not too long ago, and the difference between them is galling.

I'd like to believe that if Cook had got her hands on the hapless chicken keeper, she would not have inflicted any real damage if this is the result.

I carry the child with me towards the house. He begins to make a quiet keening noise, muffled by burying his face in my shirt. I stroke his greasy hair in an attempt to sooth him. "There, there, Lad; you're safe from harm now. Mrs C will take care of you. You are a lucky boy; Mrs Clearwater is the kindest woman in the country. She won't let anyone hurt you, not any more. Hush now, Boy."

The kind woman in question comes bustling up the path towards us. "Oh, My Lord! What have you got there? What have those ruffians done? They had best put those bastards in the stocks in Forbrigg Village, where I can get my hands on them! Come now, boy, come to Mrs C; there's a good lad. I'll take care of ye." All the time she speaks, she is wrestling the boy out of my arms and into her own. He is reluctant to leave the safe harbour he has found, and his face burns with the shame he must feel at the state he is in.

When he is safely in my housekeeper's arms, I note the breeches stained with blood that adorn his backside. Those damned buggers. I will send word to the major at the nearest garrison myself. I am sickened by the abuse two would-be-heroes can inflict.

I go to wash with a heavy heart. What a lot of news I have to tell my angel today.

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_22__th__ March 1795_

"Miss Fibbs expects you at the school house at the hour of ten, your Lordship. Monsieur Laurent requests a meeting soon thereafter, and the Parish Council meets this evening. A relatively clear day, M'Lord."

Samuels hands me the morning post, and I note with pleasure another letter from my Angel, and one from my brother. I unfold Jasper's first.

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21st March 1795

Dear Edward,

I have at last received some news to answer your commission for information on the Swans. It is a confusing tale, and you must prepare yourself for news which will not make you happy, Brother. I hope you will keep your temper reined in and allow yourself time to cool down before you act.

First, it was relatively easy to discover that Swan was awarded his knighthood for services to the King when he was approximately your age now. His father was, ironically, an estate manager in Dorset, and Swan grew up in the grounds of a fairly large estate there. He must have learned to make powerful friends, and he left home with the backing of a benefactor and went into business. At some point, he and his benefactor fell out, but any wealth Swan accumulated remained in his own hands. I believe Black was a gentleman's son in that same County, and he and Swan have been fast friends since childhood. Black went into the church as soon as he was eligible, and eventually inherited a living in Seat. Swan followed him there soon after, and arrived in Seat with a pregnant wife and a baby daughter.

Only, the strange thing is that there is no marriage certificate on record, no marriage announcement in the papers, and no one seemed to know what Wren's maiden name was or where she hails from. Until, that is, I bumped into your friend James Hunter-Buttsgrove. We went for a pint of ale together, and he mentioned that you had told him you were getting married, but he didn't know to whom. When I gave him the name Swan, he was visibly startled. I asked him to explain, and he told me this: James' father often took him to stay at the very estate that Swan grew up on, and the man's affairs were much discussed at table there – you know the Buttsgroves' love of gossip and scandal.

It seems that Swan had a half sister by a second marriage, and she was good friends with the daughter of a Baron. This Baron and his small family had hit hard times, and were living in a rather dilapidated castle close by to the estate. Swan, his sister, Black, and the Baron's daughter were often seen out together enjoying themselves.

Apparently, not long before Black received his living, the Swan girl became very ill and, James believed, eventually died. Before this, or at the same time (James was unsure of the details), Swan asked the Baron for his daughter's hand in marriage. He agreed, but she refused him. The scandal is that, apparently, Swan took her anyway. As far as anyone knows, Swan and the mother of his children – that is, your Isabella and her sister Rose – remain unmarried. When I told James that the woman was only introduced to us as Wren, he said, "That proves it! She has lost everything, including her name."

To be blunt, Edward, you are about to marry the bastard child of a thieving degenerate. On the positive side, however, Black baptised the girls when they were twelve and thirteen years old. Why he waited this long to do so, I cannot say, but church records give the date of their baptism, and their confirmation soon thereafter.

What you choose to do with this information is, of course, entirely up to you. All I can say is, do not turn over stones if you are not prepared to find worms. I suspect the girls are not aware of their parents' sin, so be warned.

Your Loving Brother,

Jasper

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The most shocking aspect of Jasper's revelation is that I find I am not shocked at all. I suspected an unwholesome secret would be revealed, and so it has been. This news does nothing to shake my determination to marry my sweet, innocent girl. I will try one thing, though.

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22nd March 1795

My Dearest, Sweet Love,

Hearing your excitement for our wedding day leak into your precious words does my heart and soul good. Believe me when I say that I ache for the day to come faster, too.

Angel, I have a favour to ask of you. I wonder how you would feel about spending the last weeks before our wedding day at the Cullens' residence? Answer carefully, because it would mean that I would not be able to come down to Seat much before the 6th; but if I have more time here to prepare for your arrival, I will have extra spare time to help you to settle in upon our return.

Now, sweet girl, you say you trust me, so I must ask you not to question my reasons for asking this of you. It is only with your safety and comfort in mind; I will give no further detail than that. As we are not yet husband and wife, I have no grounds to ask for your obedience; but I hope that you have sufficient respect for me to do as I ask.

Do not concern yourself with your father's reaction. As soon as I have your answer, I will deal with him. Please reply by return, my Love.

I remain devotedly yours,

Lord Edward Masen

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26th March 1795

Lord Masen,

I don't know what the devil your game is, Sir, but you do not have the wright to ask my daughter to leave my house be for you are wed. Neverthelless, she has gone. Do not you think I am unreasonable.

The wedding breakfast WILL be at my abode. I have my standing to think of.

Yours etc.

Sir Charles Swan

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_26__th__ March 1795_

_My Dearest Lord,_

_I write to you from the breakfast room at Cullen House. My father was not pleased when he read your letter, and this did make for some difficulty in my coming here. I kept your __words in mind, Sir, so comforted myself that it was more important to please you than my angry parent. You will be proud of me, I think, at my forbearance in the face of his ire._

_My sister is so happy to have me here. While she remains very shy with her manly husband, her spirits have much improved. She asked me whether I spoke to our mother about marriage, and I reassured her that indeed, I have done so. She seemed relieved, but was not more forthcoming. I told her that I had also written to you on the matter, and that you had asked me for my trust, which, of course, I give you gladly._

_Perhaps, now that I am in company, my days will not seem so long. My nights pass quickly, because I dream of you; but my days are slow and ponderous, with every hour we are apart stretching itself out to feel like two or three. My new gown is finished, and I have begun to sew a waistcoat for you with green silk panels to match your eyes. I hope you will like it._

_I do hope that the little boy you found has settled in and grown in health and confidence. You did not mention him in your last letter, so I presume all is well? I so admire your kindness in taking care of him. Not many men of my acquaintance would do the same – although, there are not many men that I am acquainted with. But of those I know, I believe your character to be strongest. Perhaps that is my biased heart's judgement, or perhaps it is the cause of my heart's bias – either way, I am so proud to become your wife in a few short days. _

_Rose wishes me to accompany her on a walk, for old times' sake, so I will sign off. Rest assured, I am safe and comfortable, and counting every minute until the 6__th__._

_Your Isabella _

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3rd April 1795

I have my senior staff lined up in my study like sailors listening attentively to their captain.

"Mrs C, you have done sterling work preparing Lady Masen's chamber and her handmaid's accommodation. The girl is called Alice, and we must remember that Alice and she are very close. Lady Masen will no doubt feel uncomfortable at first, and Alice will provide some familiarity for her. We must ensure that both feel as welcome as possible. However, Alice will travel here with Mr Masen approximately a week after we are due to arrive, so my wife will require assistance until then. You have someone in mind, Mrs C?"

She smiles and nods. "Yes, my Lord, all taken care of. It will be lovely to have a mistress at Forbrigg again, Sir." I smile gratefully at my dear housekeeper; I know she will make Isabella feel welcome.

"Samuels, I take it you have briefed the serving staff?"

"Of course, M'Lord."

"Thank you. Well, unless there are any questions, that concludes our business here today." I look at each in turn, but all appear confident and competent.

I clap my hands together. "Right, Jacob! Let us be off!"

He grins at me. "Right away, my Lord."

We intend to travel slowly, fetching Jasper once more from Cambridge where he has packed up and tidied away his affairs; then we will travel to a comfortable inn, where I will book rooms for my bride and I for our return journey. We will reach Seat on the 5th, in time for a sumptuous pre-wedding dinner. Em can accommodate all of us for one night, and Jacob will have time to polish and buff the newly repainted carriage.

I have planned everything so well, I don't quite know how I will occupy myself for the whole tedious journey. Perhaps I can daydream about my first few nights with my beautiful wife.

I watch as Jacob agilely springs his well-muscled body on to the roof of the carriage to secure the travelling trunk. I wonder whether he has ever deflowered a woman.

Then I laugh at myself once more. I can hardly ask my head coachman how to go about deflowering my wife. That would not be appropriate at all.

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A/N

**The next chapter is post wedding. I'll be posting it in a fortnight (you all know what that is by now, right?). I may surprise you with a short wedding scene in between – something that adds a little detail to the prologue. But as I haven't written it yet, I am making no promises.**

**I have so many people to thank this week, so I will keep it short by saying that I am truly grateful to all the readers who have put me on alert or favourited; all the reviewers who have challenged me, made me smile and made me think; and all the champions of my story who have recced PTMT all around.**

**My own rec of the fortnight (lol) is for Denverpopcorn's World's Most Dangerous Dad. Just read it. **

**.net/s/7453090/1/Worlds_Most_Dangerous_Dad **

_**There was a lot of complicated information about the Swan family background this chapter; and more insight into Lordward's life and character. Did he surprise you? What lessons do you think married life will teach him? Do you have questions? I love hearing from you.**_

**I am Gingerandgreen on Twitter.**


	7. Chapter 6  Isabella's Bridge

**Written with great respect for Stephenie Meyer, who owns all things Twilight.**

**A special treat for Remembrance Sunday, this chapter is dedicated to all the heroes who have died or faced death for their country and their people. There are no words adequate. May your bravery be remembered always.**

**Perry and Cared made me cry, they were so lovely helping me with this. Thank you. A special thank you also to Mamabean30, without whom this chapter would be a poor relation to what it is now. May your best Moulin Rouge moments multiply.**

**You wanted to know what Isabella was thinking, and you couldn't wait for the next update. See how much I love you all? Enjoy.**

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Chapter 6 – Isabella's Bridge

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_6__th__ April, 1795_

_I cannot look at him. If I look at him, he may vanish like a dream in the swirling smoke of a bonfire. What if I turn my eyes and see a different person standing there? My lord, the one I know in my head, is passion and strength; kindness and energy; gentleness and fire. His beauty is astonishing. Even his feet, planted firmly and still on the stone floor of this little church __- a church __t__hat I will never have to endure again __-__ seem strong, dependable and attractive. _

_If he remains the lord I think he is, I will pull off his boots and stockings and kiss his feet as I wash them._

_He keeps looking at me as Mr Black's words flow over me in waves, not penetrating my understanding at all; while _his _silent gaze takes every ounce of my attention. What if my lord sees a different person standing next to him? What if, as he gazes at me so intently, he sees the Isabella who is frightened of new places and new people? The coward Isabella who hides from all difficulties in the pages of a novel she has read countless times before?_

_My head is cold, and a darkness buzzes insistently at the corners of my vision. I will not faint. To fall now would be beyond endurance. I swallow hard, and force air deep into my lungs in even, slow breaths. My corset is too tight, but it helps to regulate the flow of air. I do not want my bosom to heave – the devil in front of me __is never able to__ keep his eyes off it._

_Speaking of the devil, his words suddenly catch my ears. He reads from the Bible – Ezekiel, I think. The same words he threw at me when he stripped me of what little freedom I once had._

"...thy father was an Amorite, and thy mother an Hittite. And as for thy nativity, in the day thou wast born thy navel was not cut, neither wast thou washed in water to supple thee; thou wast not salted at all, nor swaddled at all. None eye pitied thee, to do any of these unto thee, to have compassion upon thee; but thou wast cast out in the open field, to the lothing of thy person, in the day that thou wast born. And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live"

_These words are not normal wedding fare. Does he think he can still hurt me? Nothing this man does will ever hurt me again. He can no longer strike me with his hands or belittle me with his words. He has no right to arrange my day nor teach me his philosophy. He cannot take with one hand and give with another. There is no gift in this ancient world that he can force upon me._

_My lord's hip shifts. He is impatient with the vicar, I think, but for one last time, Mr Black holds the upper hand. One. Last. Time._

_Mr Black's hands turn page after page of cruel words. His fingers are soft and fat, and his fingernails are long and uncared for._

"I decked thee also with ornaments, and I put bracelets upon thy hands, and a chain on thy neck. And I put a jewel on thy forehead, and earrings in thine ears, and a beautiful crown upon thine head."

_My lord's hands are work-calloused and rough for a man of his standing. His long fingers are dexterous; they perform magic on the keys of the pianoforte. His fingernails are well cared for, short and clean and buffed smooth. They are noble hands._

"And thy renown went forth among the heathen for thy beauty: for it was perfect through my comeliness, which I had put upon thee, saith the Lord GOD. But thou didst trust in thine own beauty, and playedst the harlot because of thy renown, and pouredst out thy fornications on every one that passed by; his it was."

_I push my spine a little straighter. I may be scared, and cowardly, and many other things besides; but I know my lord has chosen the Isabella that my nemesis despises, and I feel so proud of that. No matter what the man I hate says of me, I do not care._

_From the first moment we met on that precious hill, I have only ever shown my true self to Lord Edward Masen. _

_It is my true self he has chosen to marry._

_I let Mr Black's words wash over me once again. They cannot touch me._

_Finally, finally the reading is over, and we are bid to kneel. _He _takes my arm and assists my descent, and once again the touch of this man's hand alights my whole body._

_I cannot look at him. He might see how I long for more of his touch. What if he prefers demure Isabella - Isabella who behaves like a lady - and does not imagine his fingers on my skin, removing my gown and touching me in places I scarcely acknowledge exist?_

_Have I not just told myself he has chosen the true Isabella? Does that include the Isabella who lusts for him?_

"_Our Father, Who art in Heaven_

_Hallowed be thy name;_

_Give us this day..."_

_Even his voice does something to my body, in some place deep inside of me that I did not know existed before. And now I know that I am a wanton hussy, to have thoughts like these while the Lord's Prayer is sung around me. I join in, quietly so as not to miss the exquisite timbre of my own lord's voice:_

"_And lead us not into temptation_

_But deliver us from evil;_

_For Thine is the Kingdom,_

_The Power and the Glory,_

_For ever and ever._

_Amen."_

_The praying is not yet over – Mr Black leads us into another long prayer I do not recognise – he must have selected it especially for the occasion in which he has lost me for good. Oh, yes, for Good, Mr Black, for Good in all and every sense._

_In the period of silent contemplation after our prayer, I begin to feel faint again. As we kneel in close proximity, I feel as though my soul has left my body and hovers over the congregation from the rafters above our heads._

_I look down upon the gathering. Rose kneels on the cushion she embroidered as a young girl. She is anxious for me and excited too, I think. How we will bear our separation is beyond the scope of my understanding right now. Her beauty has blossomed even more since she has married, if such a thing is possible. I ache at the thought of leaving her, but it feels like an ache with purpose and resolve. Perhaps I am braver than I think._

_Alice is in the rows behind, at the back of the church. I came so close to losing her. She still seems lost, but there is a glimmer of light there again. Alice was once all light and sweetness. I am so grateful she accompanies us to Norfolk. I will know one person there, at least. _

_I do not really know my lord._

_Do I?_

_Can I believe the Lord has gifted me the lord I wish him to truly be?_

_Have faith, Mr Cullen told me before he passed. Have faith in God and my godson and, most importantly, in yourself. Those were his very words._

_We rise, and speak our vows, and still I cannot look at him. His voice sounds so clear, true and firm. His vows are seated in his heart. I know it._

_Mine are too. I do sincerely promise all these things – to hold and to love; to cherish and obey; I will be yours, completely, until my dying day._

_I have faith. If my life has taught me nothing else, it has taught me this._

_Rose removes my glove and squeezes my hand gently in reassurance. I turn to face my lord. He takes my fingers in his and pushes his mother's ring onto my finger._

_He has claimed me. I am his. Now I look up into his eyes, and though they burn with intense emotion, it is a great sense of peace that washes over me._

_I do. I do have faith. I am married now._

_These green eyes are the windows to my future, and they bless me with peace._

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**A/N**

**Is Isabella who you expected?**

**I know some of you still think Edward is not the lord she thinks he is, but have faith, gentle reader. Your expectations are very different to those of a young woman who has grown up within the influence of Sir Charles and Mr Black.**

**I am looking forward to hearing your thoughts.**

**Guess what? I'm going to Vegas in June. Are you? I am Gingerandgreen on Twitter.**

**If you want more from Isabella's POV, please sign up for the Fandoms4ME compilation at fandoms4me dot blogspot dot com. I will thank you from the bottom of my heart.**


	8. Chapter 7  Give Us This Day

**Thank you, Stephenie Meyer; I wouldn't be writing this without you. I wish you were reading my story.**

**Perry and Cared – you mean the world to me. Thank you. **

**FluffyLiz wrote such a lovely review on Twific Picks, you should go and read it. **

**This chapter is dedicated to the celebration of love. It honours the couples who still reach for each other's touch at christenings and weddings and funerals, even after 50 years; the lovers who endure a long separation by bathing in memories first thing in the morning and last thing at night. To the Cullens of this world, who have built, nurtured and sustained True Love. And if the world has conspired to make your love a brief experience, bless the happy memories that you have. **

**In our supposedly equal 21st Century Western society, various estimates of the likelihood of being a victim of sexual violence range from one in seven to one in three (depending on various factors). We have no way of knowing how high the chances of being a victim in the highly patriarchal and very unequal society of 1795 were, but my premise is that they were high.**

**Not what you were expecting to hear at the beginning of this chapter? Fear not, Gentle Reader. There are happy times ahead.**

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**Chapter 7 – Give Us This Day**

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_6__th__ April 1795_

Isabella sleeps against my shoulder. I am uncomfortable, but nothing on this mortal earth could make me move her away.

She removed her bonnet almost as soon as we set off. Every few minutes, I turn my head and bury my nose in her thick curls. She smells of lavender and rose water, and something indefinably feminine. It is like a potion to me, a spell that incapacitates my reason. I want to drink her.

I lean my head back against the leather seat, breathe deeply, and close my eyes.

I am awakened a little later by Isabella mumbling in her sleep. I cannot perceive all of her words, but she seems anxious. She talks of 'not knowing' and 'trying hard'; I catch a plea to be gentle, and wonder whether she is anticipating our union in the flesh. I know I am.

I shift, attempting to readjust my growing length, but it disturbs my wife – the ring of that word delights me – and she begins to stir. I gently push her head and shoulders across my lap so that she can stretch out. She moans and mumbles, but settles back down to her dreams. She must be very tired.

Of course, having her sweet mouth so close to my hardening appendage does nothing to ease my comfort.

My hand rests on her waist, and I can feel the bones of the corset beneath her dress. I decide to plan our evening at the inn. I know Isabella will be frightened, so I want to build up to things gently.

I must admit that is not actually what I want at all. I want to tear her dress from her body and ravish her with my mouth and my hands and my cock.

It is more precise to say that I intend to behave like a gentleman and build up to things slowly. It is my first duty as her husband, and one that will shape the tenor of our love making for years after. I have to get it right.

I decide that I will explain the process to her while we drink our tea and before we undress. I will tell her what I plan to do gradually over the first three nights of our marriage, so that there are no surprises.

I wonder what her mother has told her, if anything. I am so pleased to have learned from Em's experience with Rose. Though, that sounds callous – I am not at all pleased that they have been forced to experience the pain that they have.

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The carriage rumbles to a stop, and Jacob clears his throat, loudly. He clearly does not wish to disturb my bride and me.

I stroke the curls from Isabella's exposed neck as she slowly stirs. Before she is quite herself, she presses her face into my thigh, which only serves to add to my discomfort.

"Angel? Are you awake?"

She gasps, and sits up straight as a shotgun, biting her lower lip and gazing around her in confusion. A blush rises in her pale cheeks, one of which is endearingly marked by the wrinkles of my breeches.

I gently grasp her chin and draw her face upwards so that her eyes will meet mine. Once I have her in my hands, I cannot resist placing a lingering kiss on her sleep-softened lips. My Beauty smiles her sunshine smile. I almost forget my purpose in waking her.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty? We have stopped to picnic, my Love."

"We are having a picnic? Outdoors?"

I laugh. "Does the idea of eating _alfresco_ confuse you, Angel?"

Her blush increases. "No my Lord; but where is the food? Who has prepared it for us? Oh, I am sorry, I do not mean to question you, Sir. Do you wish to picnic, my Lord?"

"Yes, Isabella, I do. And less of the 'my Lord' if you please; I would like to hear my name pass through your lips."

"Of course, my Lord. I mean – oh. Do you wish me to call you – _Edward_?" She whispers my name as though it is a sinful secret, one that she is willing to share. I find it extraordinarily arousing.

"Lady Isabella Masen, I like it when you call me _Edward_," I whisper my name directly into her ear which elicits a giggle, "and I like to picnic; I especially anticipate having an enjoyable picnic with my beautiful wife on this perfect day. And the food was prepared for us by Em's staff – does that trouble you?"

"Oh, no Sir," I direct a tiny frown at her, so she changes her address, "_Edward_, I was merely surprised that you would have – oh." She shakes her head, and drops her eyes to her hands. I watch curiously, trying to decipher her emotions. She takes in a breath, squares her shoulders, and smiles up at me again.

"Thank you for being so thoughtful, _Edward_. I am very excited to picnic with you, as I have never experienced a picnic outside of the grounds of Seat Manor."

"_Never_?" She shakes her head, still nibbling on her lower lip. It is so enticing. "Then let us further your education. Jacob?"

He opens the coach door and assists Isabella's descent. She springs lightly to the ground, and as I step out myself, I watch her gaze around her at the pretty scene in rapture.

She has forgotten her bonnet. The sun has re-emerged, and bounces off her pale cheekbones, so that she almost glows. She turns and grasps my hand, pulling me towards the meadow that Jacob, Jasper and I selected on our journey down to Wiltshire. The grass is fairly tall, but is scattered with violets, primrose, forget-me-nots, and clover. I knew my angel would love it.

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We have picnicked on cold rabbit pie, an assortment of potted meats, creamed carrots, peppered venison from the meal the previous day, asparagus spears, cheese, and rye bread, all washed down with lemonade and sweet cider. A slight chill invades the sunny air, and I wrap a blanket around my wife's shoulders and pull her towards me. She sits with legs folded to the side beneath her dress, and leans her upper body against mine.

I cannot believe this delectable creature belongs to me now.

We have been laughing as we eat and drink, so much so that my insides feel an unfamiliar ache. We have teased one another with morsels of food, gently bitten and licked each other's fingers, and exchanged sweet, shy kisses while shielded from Jacob's eyes with the bonnet he thoughtfully retrieved for Isabella. My manhood has not known rest for many hours now. I attempt not to dwell on it.

My wife begins to shift with apparent discomfort on her seat by my side. I stroke her hair away from her delicate ear, and whisper into it: "Are you quite comfortable, my angel? Should we move on?"

She flushes very red, from the collarbones just visibly protruding from her gown, to the tips of her ears.

"_Edward_," she whispers, "I have _needs_. I must walk alone for a minute. Will that be permissible?"

"Permissible?" I am confused momentarily, then recall how tightly her movements and behaviour have been controlled. "Angel, you need not ask my permission to relieve yourself! I have needs too, you know. Come, we will stroll towards that thicket over there, and you may walk one way, I another." I jump to my feet and offer my hand to my still blushing bride.

She glances behind her towards the carriage, where Jacob sits eating the food that was packed for him. "What will your driver think we are doing?" she whispers once more.

"I dare say he will think we are going to fulfil our _needs_, Isabella. I expect he has needs, too." I smile at her, one side of my mouth pulled higher than the other, as I attempt to control my inclination to tease.

"Oh! I have not spent so much time in the company of men before. I did not think..." She trails off, once more flushing a deep red to the roots of her hair. A baser side of my character is stirred by her admission.

"I know, Angel, I know." My voice emerges rough, and low. Isabella is startled and glances up at me, but remains silent. I caress her hand as we have reached the thicket, and we part company. Not bothering to walk far, I pull my cock out of its prison, hoping the chill in the air will cool me sufficiently to make pissing a possibility. I am not certain how I will find the strength to control myself this evening.

My bride returns from her hiding place, and takes my arm as we stroll back to the carriage. Jacob is packing away the remains of the picnic, so I open the door myself and assist my wife inside. I cannot stop thinking the words. _My wife_. How I love their sound.

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The road begins to busy as we approach High Wycombe. The inn I have booked is large and luxurious. I want to spoil my wife on our first evening together. The picnic by the wayside was hours ago and I, for one, am in desperate need of refreshment.

We have been playing travelling games. Isabella has never played them before, as she has never travelled, and it amuses me to watch her simple initial mistakes transform into strategy before my eyes. She is a quick study, and I soon have to think quickly to keep up.

Our latest game, we have made up between us. One of us will name a piece of music; the other will guess what literary work it is meant to imply. My angel is well read in the classics, but few contemporary novels have made it into her eager hands.

We pull into the yard at the inn. Isabella is startled at our arrival. Her hand moves to her chest, and she pales and flushes simultaneously. Her breath quickens. She is afraid.

I take her soft hand in mine, and press it to my lips. "Trust me?" My request emerges somewhat as a command, but she smiles gently, and nods. An employee of the Red Lion opens the carriage door, and my beauty turns to leave the comfort of the warm carriage.

It is dusk. We are shown inside to our rooms, and I order tea before dinner. We will dine in our rooms – although Isabella has never visited an inn before, the excitement of dining in mixed company is not an experience she is in urgent need of exploring.

There are other firsts that take precedence this evening.

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I have left Isabella in the bedchamber, in the capable hands of a housemaid. After washing in the adjoining room, I walk around a little, to ease my own tension.

When I return to the room, I hover outside of the door for a minute or three, unsure about what to do. Finally, I knock and enter – she must be ready for me by now.

She sits at the dressing table having her thick hair brushed out of its elaborate braid. When she sees me, she takes the hairbrush from the girl.

"Thank you Henrietta, you may leave now," she says, and I hear the nerves in her tight voice.

In truth, I am just as nervous and don't quite trust my own voice yet. I pass the girl a coin as she leaves, and she curtsies to me as she bids us a good night.

I am hoping for a good night too.

Isabella's wide brown eyes stare at me through the looking glass. I approach her and stroke my hand through her curls. This is what I have longed to do since the night of the Winter Ball. Her hair feels as soft and heavy as it looks.

I am to learn all about her tonight – perhaps I will begin by learning about her hair. I hold my hand out for the brush.

"May I? I have never brushed anyone's hair before. I would like to try to brush yours."

She nods, wordlessly. I see her swallow as she passes me the heavy silver-handled brush.

I am too gentle at first. "Like this," she says, and pushes the bristles harder into her curls. I sweep the brush down from the top of her head to the tip of her hair, not too gentle and not too hard. Soon I am able to establish a rhythm, and her hair shines.

I arrange the ends of her loose hair over her shoulders so that a portion curls over each breast, before turning her with my fingers to face me. I run my fingertips over her smooth cheekbones.

"Beautiful, beautiful girl. How I have longed to touch you," I murmur. "Stand up for me, Angel, and let me look at you."

She does. She rises slowly from the dressing table stool with grace and caution. She gazes into my eyes, unblinking. What thoughts hide inside her?

She is wearing a white gown, the material of which is so sheer I can make out the darker colour of her nipples beneath it.

My cock is so hard, it is actually painful.

"Will you turn around for me?" The gown is fastened at the back by a series of ribbons, clearly meant to be untied one at a time. I pull the ends of the bow on the first ribbon, and the back of her neck is revealed. I sweep her hair to the side and bend to kiss her there.

I hear her little gasped intake of breath, so I kiss her there again. Tonight is about learning about her body, for both of us.

"Is there anything you need? Anything you still need to do before bed?" She just shakes her head. "Come over to the bed then. Come and lie down."

I take her by the hand, and pull her gently to the high divan. She climbs in and lays herself back against the pillows. She is trembling, and reminds me of a bitch I once rescued from a rock slide on the cliffs near Forbrigg. The animal also looked at me with equal parts trust and terror.

"Hush, Angel, it is going to be all right," I murmur as I stroke her cheek again. Her skin is so soft there. I bend over her to kiss along the line of her cheekbone, down to the corner of her mouth and back across her jaw. She stills a little, and I smile at her. "There, do you see? I'm only going to kiss you, just like that. Now wait right there for me while I take off my boots."

She watches as I remove first my boots and stockings, then my waistcoat. I would like to remove my britches as well, but that may be going too far for now. I climb up on the other side of the bed and take her hand in mine.

"Remember, tonight we are going to learn about you. I am going to undress you and I am going to touch you, but only with my hands and my mouth. Look at me, Angel. I am going to give you pleasure. Do you trust me?"

She nods slowly, up and down. There are tears threatening to spill over her trembling eyes, but I don't think they are tears of fear or pain. I think she is genuinely overcome with emotion. I know what I need to do – I need to make her laugh.

"I will start with your nose." I run my finger tip down to the end of her nose and tap it three times, then turn myself around and reach for her feet. "And your toes. My, what funny toes you have. Did you steal these from an elf?" I run my finger backwards and forwards under all ten of them, tickling her.

"What? No! Do you insult my toes, Sir?" She is laughing and trying to pull them away from me, so I hold on tight. I lift her leg. "Let me see what they taste like." I nibble at them, making her laugh harder.

"Mmm, I rather like the taste of elf toes. What do the rest of your feet taste like?" I run my tongue over her instep and nibble on her heel before moving back to her toes and sucking them one by one into my mouth. At first she giggles and writhes. Gradually the pace changes to more writhing than giggling. I kiss the top of her foot and place it gently back on the bed before reaching for the other one.

"Oh!" she sighs. It is a sound of surprise and desire. I want to hear many more noises like this from her tonight. I move up to her slender ankles, stroking and kissing them with feather-light touches. Her breathing has changed again. She sounds excited, breathless.

"I am going to lift your gown further up your beautiful legs, Angel. I have a great wish to see your knees." Slowly, I push her gown up her legs as far as her thighs. "Oh my, Isabella, you may have elfin toes, but your legs are exquisite." I stare into her eyes as I run the tips of my fingers from the hem of her gown down to her feet, and back again. I am certain I see desire there.

I kiss each knee, then run my mouth over the silky brown down on each calf. I part her legs a little – she is holding them rigidly in place – and kiss her inner thighs, just above the knee. I can smell her arousal from here, and it is a delicious scent. It makes me so hard, I have to adjust myself for comfort.

I need to remove her gown, but there is something I want to do first. I shift my body again and lie so that I am pressed against her side, her face near mine.

"Isabella, I am going to teach you something. You need to relax and trust me. Just do what I do."

She nods, so I take her face in my hands and press my lips against hers, just kissing at first, then sucking and nibbling her lips between mine. Finally I push my tongue into her mouth and lose myself completely in the warm, wet space.

I trace her tongue and her teeth and her lips, and gradually she responds, until we are almost devouring one another. We breathe roughly through our noses, unwilling to break away, and she makes these tiny noises at the back of her throat that make me want to thrust myself hard against her.

I moan myself, and find that I have pressed my hardness deeply into her side. I force myself to relax my stance. Tonight is about Isabella, only my beautiful wife.

I gentle the kiss and pull away to look into her eyes again. "What do you think?" I ask.

"That was – oh, that was – was that the kiss?"

"The kiss? What do you mean, sweet girl? That was a kiss, yes. That was the sort of kiss husbands and wives indulge in. Is that what you mean?"

"I mean – Wren said there would be a kiss, and that I was to let you do whatever you want when you kiss me, so that it would hurt less. But Rosalie said the kiss would be a wonderful, magical thing if I trusted you, and followed your lead. So was that the kiss? Because Rose was right, it was a wonderful, magical thing. May we do that again?"

I am at a loss as to how to answer her question. I had thought that at least Rose would have prepared her sister better, even if Wren could not be relied upon.

"I am glad you liked my kiss, Angel. It was a magical, wonderful thing for me, too. You taste even better than I imagined." She smiles happily at me, the full blaze of my sunshine smile lapping at my edges.

"There is more, though. Did Rose perhaps tell you anything else?"

My question brings a slight frown to her lovely brow. "Rose is very reticent about anything to do with her body or mine. She was hurt once, and she changed after that. She would not speak to me..."

Naively, I want to know what she means when she trails off. "How was Rose hurt? I don't understand."

"We had a tutor for a while. He was very harsh with Rose, but he did not punish me so very much, because I belonged to Mr Black."

She speaks of 'belonging' to that cretin so casually it makes my blood chill.

"Rose was frightened of him, so she did not remember her lessons well. One day he sent me out of the room to do something that would take me some time. When I came back, Mr King pushed past me on the staircase, and I knew something was very wrong. I ran back to find Rose hysterical and bleeding. Her clothes were torn – I could not comfort her. I was frightened for her. I ran to find Father – he was with Mr Black at the time – and instead of helping her, he reached for his pistols. He was loading them, and Mr Black was cautioning him, and I was so scared for Rose. Mr Black bade me fetch our mother to her, so I did, while the men gave chase to Mr king. Thankfully, that was the last we ever saw of him. Wren sort of awoke when I told her Rose was in need of her help. She went to her and pushed me away, and though Rose and I are very close, she never spoke to me of him again."

I have turned into cold, hard marble as I listen to her tale. The urge to give chase to, and beat, a long since lost fiend courses through my blood, and I have to hold myself to the bed where I lie with one who I now know beyond doubt to be a true innocent.

"Does Em know?" My voice is little more than a whisper; I am so tightly wound.

"I do not know. It is not something I can ask." She turns her big eyes on me. "Was I wrong to tell you? You said we were to have no secrets between us, but perhaps that was not my secret to tell. I have never spoken of it before."

I lift my hand to stroke her face. "No, you were absolutely right to tell me. There must never be any secrets between us. It helps me to understand what you know and what you don't know. What that man did, Isabella – well, it makes me extremely angry. It was a long time ago now, and this feeling serves no purpose. There is no place for anger in a bedroom, so I need to leave for a few minutes to calm down. Do you understand?"

She nods, hesitantly. I rise and pull my boots back on. "Give me five minutes, Isabella. I will return."

I leave the room and gently close the door behind me. I stand and lean against it for a moment. I would very much like to slam my fist into something, but I restrain myself.

The lamps have been turned down, so I make my way through the dark passage and down the stairs by touch. I rouse a kitchen girl to bring me a glass of brandy and a writing set.

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6th April 1795

My Dear Em,

Forgive this hasty note, but this evening I have learned something about your wife that you may or may not know, and I cannot know it if you do not. I have told Isabella there are to be no secrets between us, so do not be angry with her and do not allow her sister to be angry with her either. Though you and I have vowed to be open with one another, this is a tale to be told by one person only. If you do not know the story of what a bastard tutor by the name of King did to your Rosalie, you must ask her to tell you. I am truly sorry.

Your humble friend,

Edward

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The girl takes the letter for the morning post and wishes me a good night. It has been a little longer than five minutes, but I feel in control of myself again. Holding a new candle, I climb back up to our rooms.

Isabella lies abed still, hair splayed out upon the white pillows, looking thoughtful.

She calls me over to her.

"Edward, you must think me such a fool."

"What? No. Why do you say so?"

"I have been lying here putting two and two together, and I think I understand now what happened to Rose."

I climb back up on to the bed to lie down next to her.

"Do you? Because for one who has been raised in the countryside, your innocence is amazing." I stroke her hair away from her forehead, the better to see the truth in her eyes.

"Everything anyone tells me about marital relations revolves around pain. Wren led me to expect a great deal of pain, and tried to obliquely explain how to – not avoid it, exactly, but minimise it. She always speaks in riddles, so I should have known a 'kiss' was her metaphor for... well, for a breach. And Rose – Edward, you wrote to me about pain, how it would hurt at first. Rose cried so many tears, though I know Emanuel would never hurt her willingly. She cried for days when Mr King hurt her. Weeks, probably. And my father was so angry – he is often angry, of course, but I don't think I have seen him quite so apoplectic before, or since."

"So you have put all the pain and anger together and drawn what conclusions, Angel?"

She draws in a deep breath. "That marital relations involve a breach of my body with yours, that it will be painful, but that you will be tender and loving and caring, and I have nothing to fear. And that Mr King took what was not his, and was none of those things."

I lift her gently into my arms and hold her in an embrace that I do not wish to end. She is no fool, that is certain, but I cannot begin to fathom the condition in which she was raised. That she trusts me so implicitly makes my heart hurt.

I lay her back down on the bed. "Now that you understand a little better, let me explain my intentions again. Tonight, we are going to explore your body and how it feels." I stroke over her arms and down her sides. She shivers a tiny bit.

"I will give you pleasure. Tonight, there will be no pain. I will touch you here." I pull my hand over her breasts and down her belly. "And here." I keep moving and rest my hand over her sex, which makes her gasp. "And here." I bunch her gown up a little with my fingers. "Tomorrow night, I will teach you about my body. I will teach you how to give me pleasure. It will be good – I hope we will have fun. On the third night, when we reach home, we will consummate our marriage."

I push my fingers between her legs and press gently. "When we do that, I will enter you here. This is the part of my body I will push in to you." I nudge her thigh with my returned erection. "And after the first time, it will fit you perfectly. It won't hurt at all, and if I am any good at being a husband, it will feel very, very pleasant. But the first time I push in to you, I have to break a small part of you open, so there will be pain and a little bit of blood."

As I speak, I continue to stroke her with my fingers over her nightgown, between her legs. Her thighs are clamped tightly together, but she pushes herself up in to my fingers in tiny, rhythmic thrusts.

"I trust you." She breathes.

"I know. Shall we try that kiss again?"

In answer, she lifts her head towards mine, and when our lips meet she opens her mouth to me. As we kiss, I continue to stroke her sex, but her gown is in the way. I break away.

"May I remove your gown now?"

Instead of replying, she sits and turns her back to me so that I may reach the ribbons. I pull at them gently, one by one, kissing her naked back as it is exposed to me. She is so beautiful.

Soon the gown falls down her arms. I turn her to face me, and run my eyes from hers to the tips of her bare breasts. Her rosy nipples are half puckered, and the pale mounds stand out, pert and round from her chest. She is perfect.

I lay her back down and draw the soft, sheer material away from her lower body, sliding the remaining tied section down and off her legs. Her brown triangle of thick down stands in stark contrast to the faintly blue tint of her pale skin.

"Isabella, I am almost sorry I did not wait to unveil you until we arrived home. I may never have allowed you to dress again. You are beautiful when dressed, but truly exquisite when naked." I can't stop staring at her flawless body. I run the tips of my fingers from her shoulders, tracing the path my eyes have travelled. Her skin puckers into goose bumps under my touch.

I gently trace rings around the pink tips of her breasts, and though she lies quite still, I hear the sharp intake of breath that tells me how she feels.

"Here is another kind of kiss for you, beautiful Angel. Tell me if you like it." I begin at her throat, kissing and swirling my tongue over her flesh until I reach her breasts. I gently suck them into my mouth. Each time I do, she arches her back and presses into me, gasping and making little mewling noises.

My fingers begin to dance gently over her tight belly, mirroring the action of my tongue as I twirl and swirl. She squirms beneath me. I tease her gently in this way for a little while, easing myself lower and lower until finally my fingers find the bud of pleasure at her apex.

She is startled at the feeling of my touch there, and bucks her hips into the air. I reach lower and find the moisture that has leaked through her tightly closed lower lips. I swirl it upwards, coating her and rubbing her round and round.

Her breathing becomes so loud and quick, I begin to worry she may succumb. I push my fingers back again through her wet folds until they find her core.

She is crying, "Oh, oh, oh..." and I push right up inside her, just one finger as I believe it is enough. I suckle at her breasts at the same time, and she is so excited, I expect her to dissolve at any moment.

"There, Isabella, beautiful girl, there, do you feel that?" Watching her, I think I may come undone before she does.

"What do I do, Edward? It is too much, too much – oh, oh, oh..."

"Just let go, my Angel. There... relax yourself... that's it. You feel so good, Isabella, you are soft and silky, and I want you so very much..." As I say these words, she dissolves into her pleasure for me. She is overcome, wordlessly crying out and pushing herself up against me. The sight is awe-inspiring. I am humbled.

It takes her some time to come back from where she has been in her pleasure.

I whisper, "I love you, my Angel, my sweet girl, my wife," into her ear, punctuating each name for her with a kiss and a caress, again and again.

Eventually I can see a little mischief creep into her eyes.

"What on earth did you do to me, Edward? Was that the kiss Rose was referring to? Can we do that again?"

I feel very pleased with myself.

"Roll over on to your front, Lady Masen. There are parts of your body I have yet to see."

It is not until much later, as I relive the evening in my head while my wife sleeps in my arms, that I recall my words – and their truth. I whisper them one more time, before I succumb to my dreams.

"I love you, my Angel, my sweet girl, my _wife_."

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I awake with the desperate need to piss, and the thought in my head that I do not want to do so in front of my new wife.

The naked globe of her bottom is pushed into my groin; her legs are entwined with mine, and my arms encircle her chest. Her breasts fit beautifully into the palms of my hands, and they are soft with sleep.

Now I am battling a fierce erection and the desperate urge to piss at the same time.

We fell asleep having completely neglected our future comfort. We let the fire die down to cold ash, and worse, left the lamp and the candles burning 'til they burned dry. The rooms are at the back of the inn, so I have no idea what the time is in the pitch black.

I will not be able to find a pot in the dark, but I could make my way to the window. I do not recall what is beneath the window, so pissing out of it could lead to embarrassment.

It occurs to me that if we had light, I would not piss in the pot anyway. Isabella has never seen a man exposed before. What if she were to wake and her first view of manhood was of me pissing?

No, I will have to find the door and make my way out of the room. I will just lie here a little longer, and attempt to deflate my almost painful pole.

If Isabella is going to squirm like that, I will not have much luck.

"Edward?" She is awake. Damn.

"Good morning, my Love."

"Good morning. Is it morning? It seems so dark, and cold. We let the lamp burn out, did we not?"

"Yes, we did. I am uncertain of the time, but I believe I can hear the household stirring."

"Edward..." She sounds hesitant, unsure of herself.

"Yes Angel?"

"I have needs..."

"What can I do?" I squeeze her soft breasts gently in my hands. She feels so good in my arms.

"I know we are to have no secrets between us, but," she begins to whisper, "does a wife pee in front of her husband?" I laugh. Thankfully, she does, too.

"We will work it out. Let me go and find the maid." I lower my voice to a whisper right into her ear. "I need to piss, too."

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We have successfully negotiated our toilette, shared a small breakfast of coffee and cake, and found facilities to meet our respective needs without embarrassment. I take the newspaper with me into the coach, so that we may set off in very good time for Cambridge.

Jacob has the carriage ready for us. My angel is quiet as we set off. I smile at her and stroke her cheek before shaking out the printed sheets. I usually take the London Gazette, but The Morning Post is what was available to me. I find it interesting and engaging. One article in particular catches my eye, and I fold the paper to the correct place and pass it to Isabella to read.

She looks at me in open astonishment.

"What is it, my Love? You look as though I have handed you the Crown Jewels!"

"Edward, are you allowing me to read your newspaper? Before you have even finished with it?"

Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. My heart aches for her.

I speak to her softly, masking my feelings. "Yes, Angel. It would give me great pleasure if you were to read some of what I do – assuming you would like to - and discuss it with me afterwards. I like to hear your opinions."

The tears that spring to the corners of her eyes do not escape my notice. Her smile trembles around her lips. She takes the paper from my hand, and leans forward to press her lips against my cheek.

"Thank you, Husband," she whispers. I cannot resist her, and I clasp the back of her neck with my hand and pull her back towards me.

"My pleasure, Wife." I seize her lips with mine and kiss them urgently.

Thus far, I like being married, very, very much.

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**A/N Thank you for reading, reviewing, favourite-ing, championing and talking about my story. You are all wonderful readers.**

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**Next chapter in two weeks. ;)**


	9. Chapter 8  My Lawfully Wedded Wife

**We are all here because of Ms S Meyer, who deserves our respect and thanks.**

**This chapter is dedicated to the listeners, paid and (mostly) unpaid, who draw out the pain felt by victims; lance their wounds; and facilitate their growth into survivors. Never underestimate the power of being listened to.**

**Cared and Perry are beautiful and always listen to me. ****I****am so grateful for them.****Cared, ****a chara liom, ****go méadaí Dia do stór****;****g****o raibh míle maith agat!**** (Google, please be right :p )**

**WARNING: Gentle readers, this chapter includes a ****very challenging ****scene or two that may trigger an emotional reac****tion**** that could be hard for some****. ****My promises are these: ****this story is about power and love, not cheating or deceit;**** there will always be love; ****I****will ****always listen to you, no matter what you say****; ****I'll ****hold your hand when you need me to. ****With me? Let's go...**

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Chapter 8 – My Lawfully Wedded Wife

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_7th April 1795_

"Isabella?"

We have drifted into a comfortable silence for a mile or two. My wife has been gazing dreamily out of the small carriage window, while I have been gazing dreamily at her.

She is so extraordinarily beautiful.

She must have caught the sun at our picnic yesterday; there is a light dusting of pale freckles across her nose and cheekbones that were not present the previous morning. I am the only person close enough to her to discern them, and somehow that pleases me. She glows a little today.

The shadows that have been present under her eyes are barely visible. Her long lashes sweep across clear, plump skin that I have the urge to kiss.

The corners of her lips curl upwards, as they have all morning. Every now and again her nose crinkles slightly, and her nostrils flare as though she is breathing in the most pleasant of scents.

She turns her pretty eyes towards me. "Yes, Edward?" The use of my Christian name no longer disconcerts her, or perhaps only the slightest bit. It makes me feel warm when she uses it so comfortably. We have only been married for twenty-six hours or so.

"Will you tell me about Alice?" Her eyes widen at my unexpected question, and a tiny frown pinches the area between her eyebrows.

"What would you like to know about Alice?" she asks me softly, as though she is working out a puzzle. She is still so cautious with me.

"I would like to know why she would not eat." I take her hand and stroke her fingers gently, the warmth of her soft skin sending tingles into my fingertips. I wonder whether she reacts similarly to my touch.

Isabella sighs and settles back against the leather seat.

"She overheard my father say some rather harsh things about her to Mr Black. She was listening outside of his study, which she should not have been. We all learned some time ago that we are better off not hearing the things my father and Mr Black say, but Alice is a curious girl, and was determined to eavesdrop. Curiosity killed the cat, and it almost killed the girl."

I swallow the ball of thick mucous that makes my throat ache. "What do you mean, Sweetheart?"

"They caught her listening. She made a sound, perhaps started crying, I am not certain. My father beat her, badly, and sent her off having spoken very harshly to her. I don't suppose he meant to frighten her to the extent that he did, but she became convinced she would find herself alone and without a home. She seemed to believe if she killed herself by starvation, she would not commit an unpardonable sin."

"Her belief was very misguided."

"We tried to tell her. Rose and I both explained the evil of what she was doing to herself and swore we would not abandon her. I do not know what was said to make her discount our words, but my father can be very convincing."

I imagine, to a household of unprotected women, he can be very convincing indeed. The insufferable son of … I will not finish that thought.

"And my cousin persuaded her to eat again?"

"Mr Cullen can be quite commanding himself," Isabella smiles, remembering something. "Alice tried very hard after he spoke to her, but so much damage had already been done. Your brother had more success, I believe. He will make a very good clergyman, will he not?" She smiles, the sunshine returning to her features somewhat.

"I believe he will indeed. Does Alice have no family at all?"

"Not that I am aware of. She was raised in a convent until my father brought her to live with us." She looks up at me with concern furrowing her brow. "You do not mind that she comes to us? I love her dearly, and she is no trouble. Well, she was no trouble until recently."

"No, I am very happy that you will have a companion to help ease you into life at Forbrigg. Alice will not be the first waif and stray that we have taken in, and I dare say she will not be the last. Mrs Clearwater will not tolerate any theatrics, though."

"You have mentioned Mrs Clearwater, but I cannot recall exactly..."

"My housekeeper. Perhaps you have heard me refer to her as Mrs C?" Our discussion leads into a description of all the important members of staff at Forbrigg and occupies us for many miles. At each pause in the conversation, however, I am aware of the uncomfortable feelings Isabella's description of home life have aroused in me. I fear there is a great deal more yet to be revealed about the Swans.

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We near our destination, and the surrounding countryside has changed from rolling hills to flat fields, hidden for the most part behind tall hedgerows alive with sparrows and finches.

"Edward, will you tell me more about your friends? I confess I am a little anxious about staying with strangers tonight."

I take my nervous wife's hands in mine and squeeze them tightly. "You need not worry, my Love. Lord and Lady Grantchester have been my friends for many years. I have known Charlotte since we were so high," I indicate the approximate height of a three year old; "and I best Peter at boxing so many times, he holds it against me to this day. They will be very kind to you, I assure you."

But I silently berate myself for not having thought this through. When I agreed to stop in Grantchester to show off my bride on our way home to Forbrigg, it did not occur to me how intimidated she would feel. I begin to see how all my careful preparation for the marriage state has revolved around one aspect – the physical.

How selfish am I that this has been my sole consideration?

My heart sinks further still when we pull into the grounds of Grantchester Hall. Isabella's eyes are huge as she takes in the apparent splendour. She bites her lip and spins her ring around and around, a gesture I have already come to associate with her anxiety.

Isabella stretches her limbs discretely upon clambering out of the carriage. She gazes around her, and runs her fingers through the flowing water of the fountain in the square fronting the Hall. Her wet fingers smooth the hair that has escaped in tendrils onto her neck. I walk over to her and pull her slight body into my arms.

"I love how disobedient your hair is, my Angel." I bend my head to nuzzle into her damp neck, and she snorts, indelicately. This makes me laugh, so she laughs, too. The tension is diffused for now. "Do not concern yourself with appearances; we will have a chance to freshen up before we greet our hosts." She nods, relieved.

We are greeted at the door by a manservant. He shows us to a bedroom at the back of the house, overlooking the meadows that front the river.

"Lord and Lady Grantchester and their guests are in the Chinese drawing room, m'Lord."

"Guests?"

"Yes, m'Lord. A lord and lady Hunter-Buttsgrove. Do you have everything you need, Sir?"

"Yes, thank you." The man leaves, but I remain facing the door. I do not want to look at my wife until I have my expression under control. James and Vicky are here, and I could not have received worse news.

Or perhaps I could. I take a deep breath. Water under the bridge, I admonish myself. It has been two years.

I turn and smile at my wife, but I can tell by the expression in her eyes that I do not look composed enough.

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Peter, Lottie, James and Vicky are laughing quietly together in that polite way that not-quite-friends do, when we are announced. I know that they have seen more of each other lately, but I am not convinced they are entirely comfortable in one another's company.

They all stand and turn expectant and appraising eyes on my wife.

Peter and Lottie walk forward to greet us first. Isabella is gripping my arm tightly with her left hand, but Peter reaches for her right one and presses it to his lips.

"Lady Masen, what a pleasure to meet you," he says.

"Isabella, may I present my good friends Lord and Lady Grantchester to you?"

Charlotte smiles at me, her warmth and approval already apparent in her eyes. "Please, call me Lottie, all my friends do. You are Isabella?" My wife nods and smiles shyly. She has been very quiet since our arrival. Lottie leans forward to receive my kiss on her cheek, our usual greeting. I feel my angel stiffen by my side. I turn to her, curious as to what has made her react so, but she does not meet my eyes.

"Come and meet the Hunter-Buttsgroves," says Peter when no conversation is forthcoming from my intimidated wife. We move further into the room, and James and Victoria make their greeting. Vicky is sizing Isabella up, and it is my turn to stiffen. James appears to be as amused as anything.

"What brings you two to Grantchester?" I ask.

"We bumped into Lottie and Peter at a soiree. They thought we would enjoy meeting your bride as much as they would," says James. I raise my eyebrow at Peter. He must know how estranged James and I have been.

Peter clears his throat and eyes the pair of us. "That is not entirely how I recall the conversation, James, but we are all here now. Come and take a seat, and Lady Masen can tell us about her glorious wedding day. Drink?"

We sit, and once again several pairs of expectant and appraising eyes rest upon my wife. "Lady Masen is a little tired from her journey." I squeeze her hand. "This is her first experience of travel, and she has adjusted to the circumstances remarkably well." I look meaningfully at Lottie, pleading with her to ease Isabella's anxiety.

She does, of course. Darling girl. "Where is it you have travelled from, Dear? I must say, you look as fresh as a daisy. You must take to travel very well." This causes my angel to blush.

James feels the need to share his enjoyment of my wife's discomfort. I narrow my eyes at him, but he ignores me, staring at the flush on Isabella's cheeks. "Your _journey_ does not appear to have tired you out at all. Perhaps other activities have invigorated you? Your husband has quite the reputation for putting great effort into pleasing and invigorating activity." Oh, he thinks he will goad her this way, but he has no idea how innocent she is. Lottie's eyes widen in surprise at his uncouth comment, but Isabella merely looks confused. She glances at me before answering.

"I am a little tired from my journey. We have travelled from Seat, in Wiltshire. There has not been much opportunity for other activities, although we did stop for a picnic yesterday. And last night we stayed at an inn." She smiles at the gathered company, no doubt pleased that she has managed to enter the conversation successfully. I am proud of her and raise her hand to my lips to communicate so.

"What have you been up to here?" I ask the gathering, though pointedly ignoring James. "Have you been out on the river at all?"

"No, every time we decided to go out, rain threatened," says Vicky. The conversation settles in, and Isabella settles happily into it too.

She will make a fine, fine wife.

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We experience another moment of awkwardness as we retire to dress for dinner. Naturally, as newlyweds, Lottie has put us together in one room, but both of us wish to bathe. I would dearly love to watch my Angel wash herself in the privacy of our room in front of a roaring fire, but I am certain she will not feel the same way about my own ablutions.

I call the manservant and ask him to draw me a bath elsewhere. A maid is sent up to assist Isabella - Lottie's own handmaid, I believe. Whether she bestows this favour upon Isabella for her own sake, or whether she does it for me, I cannot tell. My wife has been surprisingly stiff with Charlotte. I wish I knew why.

As I scrub every inch of my body with vigour – I hope for the chance to reveal it to my angel before the evening is out – I cast my mind back over the day, searching for a clue as to Isabella's reticence. It is not that she is shy; she has been open and friendly with Peter and James, responsive to Vicky. I rather wish she would not be responsive to her, but my own dislike ought not colour my wife's opinion. Or, perhaps it should? It is my duty to guide her, is it not? And how will Isabella understand Victoria's vile nature if I do not reveal it to her?

By the time I scrub between my toes, I decide to stop brooding and speak with her plainly. I am her husband, after all. I reach for the jug of clean water and rinse my hair. I am so clean, I almost sparkle. I can hardly wait for dinner to be over.

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Dried, dressed, and very desiring, I offer my arm to the extraordinary beauty by my side as we descend to meet our hosts. Isabella is wearing a gown in the chocolate coloured silk that Mrs C and I purchased in Cambridge. My necklace rests upon her décolletage, and pearl-headed pins that once belonged to my mother, adorn her hair. I can barely take my eyes off her.

Neither can James.

Conversation flows as freely as the wine and gravy. My angel appears to have forgotten her pique with Lottie, who has a very droll sense of humour; we all laugh more than we eat.

We tell them about the wedding – my knees are still stiff from that stone cold floor – and Isabella gives a fine imitation of Scoundrel Black's endless sermon.

"... _I clothed thee also with broidered work, and shod thee with badgers' skin, and I girded thee about with fine linen, and I covered thee with silk_... and his voice was so cold I thought he might do us bodily harm with it." Her sonorous mimic of the vicar is uncannily accurate and makes me snort with laughter.

"He read to you from Ezekiel? Interesting choice," says Lottie.

"The passage meant something to Black, I assure you." I reach for my wife's hand. She smiles her sunshine smile, and we both know why. The relief in being free of that man's influence is monumental.

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As soon as the ladies withdraw from the dining room, the tension rises.

"Well, Masen, she may have brought you a basketful of scandal as a dowry, but I see the compensation," says Peter. My spine stiffens. Peter is not known to hold back his thoughts, but crudity is not his usual style.

"Would you care to clarify that remark?" I ask him, coldly. He watches me before he answers, seeking something in my demeanour; I don't know what.

"You did not marry the girl for her money, that seems clear; and you must know of the rumour and gossip that James regaled us with?" James rolls his eyes at Peter's slightly scornful tone.

"Listen, my friend, I know as much of my wife's family history as I require, to ensure that my judgement of her character is sound. You know as well as I do that money need not influence my choice of bride. As for gossip and scandal – when have I ever fallen under their cheap influence?" Peter inclines his head in acquiescence.

"She is very pretty. Vicky had better watch herself, she has some competition there." I turn to glare at James.

"What the devil do you mean by that, James? There is no comparison between my wife and yours. There is no basis for competition of any kind, do you hear me?" My voice rises, but I do not care. I pin his sly face with my most earnest glare.

Did I think I could forgive this man? More fool, I.

"Oh, come now, Masen. Share and share alike. You have tasted what's mine, after all." This is too much. Bile rises at the back of my throat, and I swallow my nausea fast. I grip my chair to keep myself from leaping up to beat this cretin to a pulp in front of my good friend.

The fury spews into my words instead of my fists. "You fucking son of a whore, you watch yourself. You plied me with god knows what; bound me to my bed while I slept the sleep of Puck; and watched as your _wife,"_ I spit the word, "took me into her foetid cunt and rode me until she was done. That," I breathe hard and fast, and cold creeps down the side of my head, "_that_ blasphemous act is so far from sharing, I..." I can no longer continue. Anger has swollen my tongue.

"James, what are you doing in my house?" asks Peter, in a voice so low and cold I can hardly hear him over the blood pounding through my head.

"What? Calm down, Masen. Vicky only wanted a little taste of you, and you wouldn't give yourself to her willingly. Your good reputation was well deserved, I hear." He laughs. How I restrain myself from punching the grin from his mouth, I do not know. Peter puts his hand on my arm, warning rather than restraining me.

"James, I feel that you have bought my hospitality under false pretences. I thought you told me that you and Edward had become close again, that you were in correspondence; and that he would welcome seeing you with his new bride. I would not have issued the invitation had I known what has passed between you. You are not welcome here," says Peter, his grave tone acting as counterfoil to my heat. I am grateful for his unerring support.

James has the grace to look embarrassed. "What do you mean, Peter? Do you wish me gone?"

"I do. But you may stay until first light if it suits you better. I would like you to leave my dining room, collect your wife, and keep to your room for the remainder of the evening."

James looks as though he does not believe him. I know Peter well; his quiet resolve belies his anger.

"Really, Grantchester, why so serious? Masen's all right; he's a lucky man, to have sampled my wife's charms. I only ask for a little taste of his in return. Where's the harm?"

I am out of my seat before he finishes spewing his vile words, but Peter reaches him before I do. He actually grabs a hold of his hair and punches him in the kidney in one swift move. He pushes him towards the door and rings the bell for service before I can react.

"Leave. Now. Go." James is white and choking. He glances over his shoulder at me, and despite his sick demeanour, it is challenge I see in his eyes. He leaves the room, and I hope to never see the excuse for a man again.

Peter hands me a glass of port.

"Did that really happen?" he asks.

"Do you mean what just passed in this room or what happened two years ago?"

"Of course I am referring to your – what happened between you?"

"It was just as I described. We had a long, drunken evening together. I was staying with them at Buttsgrove. There was a lot of talk, sexual innuendo; you know how feisty James gets. He wanted me to take Victoria; of course, I refused. You know me, Peter, when have I ever shown an inclination to behave like that?"

"Well, you _have_ consorted with the Duchess of Bedtimeshire, have you not?"

"_Bedfordshire_, you swine. Listen, the Duchess might have been involved in plenty of scandal in her time, but to me she was sweet and kind and private. Lady Angelina is a bored woman, and high enough in social standing not to give a damn about gossip and scandal. But you can hardly say the same of me, Peter!"

He looks at me, confusion and perhaps a touch of embarrassment in his eyes. "No, Edward, I suppose not. It would be out of character for you to play the kind of games some circles play. But gossip runs its own course, and knowing the Duchess' reputation, perhaps we all assumed that she had initiated you into more than she had."

I shake my head in disappointment. So this is what my friends have thought of me. "Peter, I have had three notable affairs in my life, all initiated by the women, and all conducted with great respect, in private. Including Duchess Angelina."

"So you refused James, and he had Victoria take you anyway?"

"I barely recall stumbling to bed. I don't know what he gave me to drink, but it was strong stuff; I was not myself at all. I may have blacked out for some time. The next time I was aware of my surroundings, my hands were tightly bound to the bed posts, my clothing was removed – you may laugh, Peter, but I assure you, there was no pleasure in it for me – and that hussy was lowering herself onto my manhood. I tried to buck her off, but it only served to increase the woman's pleasure."

Peter guffaws at this confession, and I have to admit, I can see the humour in that one act of desperation, at least.

"But how did you keep it up, man, if you were not taking any pleasure from the act?"

"I don't know, Peter, believe me, I have pondered this myself. I can only surmise my prick has a mind of its own; I had nothing to do with it. When I learned to stop bucking, I lay still, and he did deflate. But the witch had already taken her pleasure from me by then. James must be a poor performer with a tiny cock, or she would not have reached her peak so quickly. At least, this is one of the means I have used to comfort myself ever since."

"This is more entertaining than those ghastly novels Lottie insists on reading. _The Rape of Lord Masen _– I can see the volume in my mind, bound in blood red."

"I am glad I amuse you, Peter. But I do feel violated. I have not been with a woman in that way since. I mean, I have needs, and I've had them met, but no actual intercourse. My cock has met no quim since – hers." I shudder. Perhaps talking about this will lay my demons to rest. I do feel a little lighter.

"Yes," Peter muses, scratching at his jaw, "I thought Isabella remained a virgin. She has such an innocence about her. What will you do?"

"I am waiting until we reach home. I am worried about hurting her. Lottie was a virgin on your wedding night, was she not?"

"Yes, not that it's any business of yours, Masen."

"Sorry, I did not mean – well, if we can discuss _my_ wife's innocence, perhaps we can discuss how you took yours without hurting her?"

"I can barely recall, to be perfectly honest. It hardly signified – I was careful, she winced, but took it like a woman. You worry too much. Look, I'd better go and make sure that idiot is not doing any further damage to my peaceful household." He stands and slaps me on the shoulder. He looks as though he would speak further but merely shakes his head, pats me again, and leaves me to my port.

Suddenly, I want nothing more than to be on my own with my angel in our own private room. I almost knock my chair over in my haste to retrieve her from the drawing room.

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"You bear a heavy weight on your shoulders this evening, Edward. What ails you? What can I do?"

We sit in the chairs at the foot of the bed in our Grantchester bedroom. We are not close enough. I move to kneel at my angel's feet and gently remove her shoes, one by one. I stroke her pretty feet through her stockings. She leans over to smooth the hair away from my forehead.

"Will you talk to me, Sir?"

"Sir, Isabella? Are we back to that again?"

"You are my husband, and I will always look up to you. And you have the most noble heart, and yet here you sit, at my feet. I do not deserve the accolade, but I do enjoy it, nonetheless."

"You deserve my worship, and much more besides, sweet girl." I lean over her and rest my head in her lap. She continues to stroke my hair. The tenderness is divine.

"James and I aired some old wounds this evening. It has left me drained." I sit up and look earnestly into her brown eyes. "He and Victoria are no friends of ours, Isabella. They are dangerous people. I thought that I could let things go by, but I was wrong. We will never see them again."

She nods, biting her plump lip. "Victoria was very kind to me. But I understand, Edward, and I will follow your guidance. Will you tell me what has passed between you?"

"I will, but not tonight. I want to focus on you this evening. You look so beautiful." She leans closer to me – I think that she would like to initiate a kiss but is as yet unsure. I close the distance and appropriate her lips with mine. Her soft mouth welcomes my tongue, and I fall into a spell of want that consumes my every thought.

When we break apart, I stand and pull her up into my embrace. She must feel my hard length pressing in to her belly. I take her ear lobe between my teeth and bite, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips. I whisper, "Let us ready ourselves for bed, Wife, and I will show you what I need." My breath must tickle her ear because she laughs and cringes away from me. I squeeze her tighter, then release her to undress.

I spin her around by her shoulders and examine the fastenings on her dress. They are not too complex, though my large fingers fumble over them as I undo her. I release the sash that is tied under her bosom, and the deep brown material slips to the floor. Isabella steps out of the silk puddle and presents her delicate back to me again.

I loosen the laces of her corset until my hands are free to slip between her skin and the darker cream garment. I cup her breasts as she leans into me, arching her back so that the firm weight of them presses into my palms. She has grown so brave. I nuzzle the hair that has once again escaped its pinned prison, pushing it away from her neck and pressing soft kisses there. Deep breaths draw her scent into my lungs, overwhelming me with desire.

Nibbling her shoulder, I push the still loosely threaded corset down her body, gathering her slip and bloomers as I go. The garments slide easily over her hips and down her thighs. I pick up her stockings with my thumbs, and these too join the clothes on their way to the floor.

When she is naked, I turn her to face me. I study her flesh, marked in places by the recent grip of her clothes but otherwise unblemished. "Where is your nightgown?" If we are both naked, I will not be able to restrain myself. She leads me to her trunk and bends to open it, exposing her dark secret place below her smooth rump for just a second or two. I have to close my eyes to savour those seconds again.

I hold her nightgown open for her, and she pushes her arms through the sleeves. I take my time fastening the ribbons, kissing her back until it is entirely hidden from my lustful eyes. Who knew covering a woman could be as erotic as uncovering her?

I lead her to the bed, and she climbs in, turning to watch me. It is my turn.

Holding her eyes with mine, I begin by untying my cravat. It hangs loose around my neck as I undo the fastenings on my waistcoat. I discard both items on the floor, and my collar follows. My shirt hangs from my shoulders, and I untuck it from my breeches before I bend to remove my boots and stockings.

Barefoot now, I tug my shirt over my head, followed by my under-shirt. I straighten to watch Isabella's reaction. Her eyes are wide, and excitement sparkles there. She stares at me, her eyes roving over my shoulders, chest, and belly. She follows my hands as they move to undo the fastenings on my breeches. I pull them and my underwear off swiftly and straighten to my full height, my erect member bouncing against my belly in the wake of my movements.

I hear my angel's sharp intake of breath before her hand moves to cover her mouth. I cock my head to one side and raise my eyebrow at her in challenge.

"Well?"

She tears her eyes away from my body and looks into my mine, displaying her honesty, before whispering, "You are beautiful."

I climb up onto the bed next to her and recline, leaning on my elbow. I reach out a finger to stroke her cheekbone. "Thank you. I am glad you think so."

She crosses her legs and turns to face me. "When Rose and Alice and I were a little younger, we stole a likeness of Michelangelo's sculpture of David from my father's study."

I find this mildly shocking and laugh. "Did you really?"

"Yes, and we spent a lot more time than we ought to have studying the likeness intently. David is quite like you." She grins, "But he didn't have this." She points to my still pulsing, hard cock and blushes scarlet.

I cannot keep the smile off my lips. "No? No, I don't suppose the model for the sculpture could maintain an erection like this for long. It doesn't always look like this. It becomes hard and big when I am feeling lustful, Isabella."

"Oh." The little noise she makes is so endearing.

"You can touch me, if you like."

I watch as she reaches out a hand to my chest and runs her fingertips over my muscles. She traces the hair that begins at my neck, spreads sparsely over my breast, and narrows into a line pointing towards my groin.

"You feel so hard and warm and soft at the same time." Her other hand joins her first, and she strokes gently over my flesh. As she draws close to my cock, I feel it pulse; it begins to weep with want. "Can I touch you there?" She points to where I want her hands most of all.

"Please. Please do." My voice is strained.

Her fingers slide oh-so-gently over my skin, fluttering around me. When she touches the head of my cock, it jumps, scaring her a little. She pulls away but returns to stroke the liquid over my head with her thumb.

"It's slippery," she murmurs.

I take her hand in mine and wrap us firmly around my cock, squeezing tight. I show her how to move the foreskin up and down, slowly at first.

"Is this what you like?"

"So very much. Your hand feels exquisite."

I increase our pace and take her other hand in mine to touch my testicles. "Be very gentle here, Sweetheart; your babies are stored within these sacks." She strokes me there, feather-light, with one hand and rubs me with the other. My breathing accelerates. I show her how to cup me and the space behind my balls where I like to be stroked most of all. I have been aroused for days with no release, and I am not going to be able to contain myself for long.

"I am going to come undone at any moment, Isabella. Watch me." I grasp the hand that rubs my cock harder and pull and twist fast and firm. My hips flex upwards as I feel the tightening in my bollocks that precedes my release.

A growl escapes my throat, and the white seed shoots from me in streams, landing on my belly and chest. I grip her hand around me, begging her not to let me go with my hand covering hers. Her other hand still cups my balls, though very gently.

I open my eyes and find hers with them. She looks a little shocked and a little proud.

"Thank you, my Love. That was so very good. You did well." She smiles shyly at me. "Will you fetch me a towel to clean myself?"

She jumps up, rushing to dip a cloth into the cooling water on the wash stand, and brings a dry towel back with her too. She gently wipes the seed away from me with the wet cloth, then dries me with the towel. No one has ever taken care of me like this before.

I reach out to stroke her face again. "You make me feel cherished, Isabella. Thank you."

"I do cherish you, Edward. I truly do."

I pull her close to me for a kiss and lose myself once again in my wife's embrace.

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I wake some time in the night with a start, quelling the shout on my lips. Sweat beads on my brow. I am disorientated, uncertain of where I am or why I am awake. As usual when I awaken this way, I do not remember my dream at all. I hear a gentle sigh and look down to see Isabella sleeping soundly at my side. I have not disturbed her at least.

My wife's presence calms me quickly. I smooth the hair away from her face and notice with a smile that her tongue pokes out between her lips. What a blessing this lovely woman is. I do not deserve her, but I will do everything in my power to make her happy.

I lie back down and draw her sleeping body into the circle of my arms. She smiles in her dreams and pulls herself closer still, nuzzling sweetly into my shoulder. I stroke her hair, and with a skill borne of long experience, shut down my disquieted thoughts, until nothing but the scent and feeling of my Angel fills my mind.

I sleep.

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Breakfast is a much quieter affair than dinner. Isabella and I are both very hungry. We have not been good company to our hosts since yesterday's meal.

They seem to understand. Perhaps having newly-weds in the house has awakened their desire for one another; or perhaps it was the shared adrenaline from the fight with James. Peter and Lottie gaze at each other, steal gentle touches and secret smiles, and generally act as besotted with each other this morning as Isabella and I.

Of the unspeakable pair, there is no sign. I will not even ask.

"Are you anxious to be away, or will you stay and spend some more time with us today?" asks Lottie, looking Isabella's way. My wife turns her big eyes to me.

I kiss her knuckles. "Actually, Lottie, much as I would love to stay and play, we would like to be on the road as soon as possible. Perhaps you would like to come and visit us for a time, before the London season begins?"

"That would be delightful, wouldn't it?" She turns to Peter, and he smiles at her indulgently.

"Take the Bury road, Masen. There's a hanging in Ely today." I nod my thanks to Peter. The roads will be clogged with traffic from all directions if there is a spectacle to be had.

"Do you wish to write to your parents before you leave, Bella? Your mother must be missing you," asks Lottie, reaching for the bell.

I arch my eyebrow at my wife. '_Bella?'_ I mouth the question – she blushes. I lean over to kiss her cheek as she moves her head towards me, so that I catch the corner of her soft mouth instead. Her blush intensifies. Charlotte pretends to busy herself amongst the items on the sideboard.

"Should I write to them?" my angel whispers to me.

"Do you want to?" She shakes her head, though looks a little troubled. That tiny frown has appeared between her eyebrows again.

"Then no, Sweetheart, you should not. There will be plenty of time for letter writing later in the week." She nods, but the frown has not left her countenance.

"Would you like to write to your sister instead?"

"Could I? I do not want her to think I..." She trails off.

"Angel, you can write to whomever your heart desires, whenever you wish." I am utterly confident in this statement. There is no one I would disapprove of within my wife's acquaintance, whom she would consider addressing a letter to. I know that Isabella would rather cut off her fingers than write to Mr Black, for instance.

"Thank you, Edward." This time, she leans forward to kiss my cheek, and her show of affection – well, even after everywhere she touched me last night, this gentle kiss is what almost undoes me. I smile into her eyes, and she smiles back into mine, until Peter's soft throat clearing returns us to the room.

"Come to my room, Bella, you can use my writing set. I'll show you where to leave the letter," says Lottie, kindly.

"Oh! But..." Isabella glances at me, and I look at her questioningly. She is a portrait of small mortifications this morning. Not for the first time I wish I could see into her mind.

"What is it, my Love?" I catch her hand in mine.

"Will you... where will you be? So that I can bring my letter to you to read."

I am confused. "You wish me to read your letter to your sister?"

"Do you not... is that not..." Understanding suddenly hits me.

"You think I wish to read your letter because I am your husband? This is what your father has taught you?" She nods, biting her lip as though it is the cause of her insecurity.

How do I explain my thoughts on this without insulting her parents? Manners be damned. I take her other hand in mine and rise, pulling her up with me. "Excuse us a moment." I nod to Peter and Lottie and pull my wife out of the room. Standing under the chandelier in the grand hallway, I pull her close to me.

I cup her lovely face between my hands as I speak, to ensure I have her full attention. "Isabella, I want you to understand that I am _not_ like your father, and I am _nothing_ like Mr Black. You are my wife, but you are an adult, and I trust you. You do not need to show me your correspondence, nor seek my approval on every small matter that requires your attention. I will not attempt to control your every waking moment, nor will I interfere with your pastimes, your endeavours, or your priorities. All I ask of you is that you give me your attention when I desire it. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Yes, who?" Her smile trembles a little.

"Yes, Edward."

"That's better." Still cupping her face, I bend my head to hers. Our kiss is reverent, gentle, and equal; her lips move with mine in a dance sequence of tenderness and love.

When we pull apart, our lips cling. Isabella giggles. I kiss the tip of her nose. "I cannot wait to get you home. Go and write your letter while I supervise the packing." She lingers, leaning into me a little more. I pat her on her rump. "Go!" She laughs.

"Yes, Edward!" She moves as though to walk back into the breakfast room. I bound up the staircase but turn in suspicion before I am out of sight of the ground floor. Isabella stands there, staring up at me.

"Lady Isabella Masen!" I warn, my voice low and growly. She blows me a kiss and turns away properly this time. Waiting a few more seconds just in case, I am about to leave when her head comes back into view. She sees me watching her and giggles again, the delightful sound ringing out in the empty space. I am of half a mind to leap back down the stairs and put her over my shoulder, but decide that a hasty departure for home is preferable.

I will have her alone with me in a carriage for several hours, after all.

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**Thank you for reading, reviewing, talking about, championing and supporting my story. You fill my heart.**

**Do you think Edward should tell Isabella what happened to him? How do you think she would react?**

**Have you any thoughts on an Isabella outtake for Fandoms4ME?**

**Will you talk to me on Twitter? I'm Gingerandgreen there too.**


	10. Chapter 9  To Have and To Hold

**Ms S Meyer, what a happy community of people you engendered when you wrote Twilight. Thank you.**

**This chapter is dedicated to the valiant women I listened to recently who have not only turned their backs on their abusers, but changed the police approach to campaigns to persuade people to report abuse. To them, the violence they experienced was a secondary evil to the execrable control their abusers took over their lives. Taking their experience and using it for good has profoundly changed the women; the joy they take in living literally shines from them. **

**Cared and Perry, the most dedicated pre-reader & beta in the history of fan-fiction, have been joined by Mr G&G to make these chapters as authentic and polished as possible. Mr G&G very kindly donates his expertise on a man's POV. I am truly blessed to have them all on my team. *beams proudly* Any remaining errors are mine.**

**Cared suggests you keep smelling salts handy for this chapter; Perry goes one further and recommends oxygen.**

**For those of you anxiously anticipating an awkward show down with Jessie from chapter 3, please be reassured this will _never_ happen. Jessie, who is not that kind of girl anyway, has gone to live with her husband. She keeps house and minds the shop instead of working in the dairy. In the highly unlikely event that Lordward enters the Grocer's shop with his adored bride, all parties will react with the same respect they have always shown one another. _Trust me._**

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**Chapter 9 – To Have and To Hold**

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_8__th__ April 1795_

Jacob and I wait outside with the impatient horses while Isabella gathers her last items and says her goodbyes to her new friends. The change in her demeanour towards Charlotte came about quickly and mysteriously, at least to me.

Finally, they drift outside together. I give the lead mare one last calming touch and hurry over to them as Jacob swings himself up into his seat. We are all anxious to complete the last leg of the journey.

Peter gives me a rare smile. "The horse team always know when they are on their home stretch, do they not? You appear to be quite ready to be off yourself, Masen."

"Thank you for your hospitality Peter; Lottie," I lean to kiss her cheek, "You have been very kind, as always."

"It was even more of a pleasure to see you than usual, Edward. Your bride is delightful; take very great care of her dearest, or you will have me to answer to."

"Yes, my Lady," I make an elaborate bow to Lottie, and when I straighten, I see a deep blush lingering on Isabella's cheeks. I smile very fondly at her. I have to work hard not to sweep her into my arms and run to the waiting carriage. Instead, we make idle chit-chat as we stroll towards our mode of escape, saying unnecessarily prolonged goodbyes in my opinion.

"Right, we are leaving now. Do write and let us know when you wish to visit us at Forbrigg." I have the carriage door open and Isabella's soft hand in mine, urging her upwards. Peter laughs at me, the cad. He has deliberately delayed us; I know it. I place my hands around my wife's small waist and lift her easily into the compartment. A giggle escapes her lips, and I climb in swiftly behind her.

"Goodbye, Edward; goodbye, Bella!" We wave through the small window, my angel leaning over me to do so. Jacob takes his cue; finally we are on our way home.

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"How long have you been known as _Bella_?" I raise my eyebrow in mock censure, and my wife startles. I lift my hand to her hair to sooth her, regretting the manner of my tease at once. "I like it; you are very beautiful. If the slipper fits..." I trail off with a smile, grateful to see a response touch her lips.

"Rose has always called me Bella. Lottie and Vicky insisted – do your friends usually shorten their names, Edward? I have never known – Rose would never have called me Bella in front of my parents, or indeed...well, anyone else." I know she was about to mention Black but thought better of it. I wish we could return through time and erase him from existence.

"And yet you do not even name your mother by her relationship to you – you call her Wren. What is that but a nickname?"

Isabella's mouth turns down. Her eyes and fingers pick at a loose thread on a dislodged button on the leather seat. "Father forbid us from calling her anything else as soon as we were old enough to trigger his notice."

How odd. "Why?"

Her gaze darts up to my face and fire flickers in it. "Because when we called her Mama, it made her happy. Under no circumstances was my mother permitted to be happy."

I think Isabella may pick the seat apart, her fingers are so insistent. I take her hand in mine, rubbing soothing circles on it with my thumb. "Tell me. There is nothing I can do if you do not tell me."

My wife looks up at me, astonished. "Do? What could you do?"

I choose to believe that her astonishment is at the idea that something could be done, not at my ability to act. I close the small distance between us, and grasping her head between my hands, I kiss her soundly. When I pull away from her lips, she looks confused but desirous; her tongue slips out to taste herself where I have laid claim to her.

I pull her into my embrace, and without resistance, onto my lap. Her small body fills the space between my arms perfectly.

"I have many things at my disposal that your father does not. If you tell me, there may be something I can do. If you do not, I will remain ignorant and unable to change a thing. Share your concerns with me, _Bella_." I whisper her new name into her ear, and she shivers slightly.

"Perhaps it would be easier if you asked me questions, S... Edward. I have been taught not to speak."

"And yet your voice is exquisite. Will you sing for me later?"

"Of course – if you wish." She sits up in my lap to give emphasis to her words. "I love to sing for you, Edward. Nothing makes me happier." I see doubt cross her features at her own words. "Well, to sing and to take care of you – those are the true blessings in my life right now." She smiles broadly at me.

"Then you will understand my need to take care of you too, Angel. Now tell me what troubles you about your mother, and we may take care of one another at will after that."

She nods her agreement but does nothing more than sigh and worry her lip with her small teeth. My patience is unpractised, but I make myself wait.

I pass the silence indulging myself in the scent emanating from her neck. I rub my nose up and down her warm skin, inhaling deeply. Then I have to taste her, so I trace the same path with my tongue.

I realise I distract her, but she tastes delectable.

My mouth lowers to the crook of her shoulder, which I cannot help gently sucking. She shifts her bottom on my lap in response, and blood rushes to my cock. I know the instant that she feels me, because her spine stiffens and her breath stills.

My teeth graze up her neck to the lobe of her ear, velvet soft in my mouth. I nibble and suck before whispering to her, "Beautiful Bella, you entice me so. Do I excite you too?"

"Yes," she breathes. My cock hardens even more. I reach down to her ankle with my free hand and pull her dress and petticoats up her legs and over her knees, until the bare skin of her thighs is exposed. The thought that I have every right to bare her flesh and take possession of it crosses my mind, and my heart beats hard in my breast.

My fingers trace the shards of sunlight dancing on her skin where it falls through the window. The light musk of her perspiration fills the masculine-scented air of the carriage. Traces of leather, cigar smoke, beeswax and road dust subsumed by feminine scent – I have to be the most blessed man in England, possibly the whole world.

I lift her skirts even higher. The curls covering her sex are exposed, and I stare at them for several minutes because I can. The only sounds above the rumbling of the carriage wheels as they roll over the rough ground are the quiet pants of my very still wife.

"Part your legs for me, Angel." She obeys me at once, her willingness to please me apparent in every gesture. This excites me too.

I stroke the damp silk of her sex with one hand. My other hand feels its way across the curve of her breast to the stiffened nipple apparent through the layers of muslin she wears. Something between a gasp and a whimper fills the carriage air.

I don't know how long I play with her – it could be minutes or hours, I am so absorbed in her. She is slippery with desire and almost crying with need by the time I take pity on her. With my thumb on her swollen bud and my finger buried deep inside her, I turn her face to mine and claim her mouth, pushing my tongue into the sweet darkness there. I push everywhere, rhythmically, allowing the sway of the carriage to rock her into my hand, and she falls, crying breathlessly into me.

This glorious woman is going to be available to me indefinitely. Always. I cannot recall why I was nervous of marriage.

She sinks into my chest, and I fold her into my arms, burying my nose into her hair. We are silent for some time; I think she has lost track of our conversation, and I only wish to savour her. She feels warm and slight, and yet so very present on my lap.

When she speaks, it is with quiet determination, which compels me to listen in silence.

"Mr Cullen told me that marriage is a partnership; that when a man and a woman are joined by God, they create a whole that is greater than the sum of their parts. I did not believe him." Her fingers caress my chest, and even through layers of clothing, I feel their warmth. "I think my father hates my mother as much as he loves her. She only fears him. He does not touch her, except to inflict pain or punishment. We do not touch in my family."

I tighten my hold on her. I want to tell her that I am her family now, but I do not wish to interrupt her revelations.

"Your touch, Edward – I cannot describe what your touch does to me. When you caress me, I want to cry. Not for sadness; I feel overwhelmed by emotion when you touch me. When you..." She pauses, turning her face into my shirt for a moment; when she speaks again her voice is quieter than before. "When you kissed Lottie, I was so shocked. I thought your touches were all for me; that as your wife, I had claim over all your affection."

"I kissed Lottie? When did I kiss Lottie?"

"When we first arrived – you kissed her cheek. I thought – never mind what I thought. I mistook the gesture; that is all. It is nothing." She shakes her head, chasing her demons away. "You have to understand that every day of my life, for as long as I can remember, I awoke with the knowledge that I needed to plan my strategy for the day to avoid the wrath and punishment that would be visited on me regardless. If my father required that I use his pet name for my mother, for her sake and mine, I would do as he wished."

This is so painful to hear. Charles Swan is a monster. May God forgive him; I will not.

"Isabella – Bella – when you say punishment and wrath, do you mean physical punishment? Did your father strike you?" I can hardly bear to listen to her answer.

She nods. I feel rather than see her head move up and down on my chest because my eyes are closed. "Not as frequently as Mr Black did, but with less cold-hearted control than he had."

"What?"

My wife – my small, delicate, precious wife – stiffens in my arms.

She is silent.

I am nauseated almost to the point of actual sickness. I cannot have heard her correctly. She does not mean what she says.

I will kill him.

With my own bare hands, I will seize the fiend by his neck and throttle him into the depths of hell where he belongs.

When I can speak, my voice is barely above a whisper. "What did Black do to you?"

She looks up at me – in fear?

"He did nothing inappropriate, my Lord. No one has – I am yours, completely. I swear it."

I think my heart will break. I take her chin in my fingers and raise her lips to mine. They are so soft where I kiss them.

"My darling girl, everything that man did was inappropriate. He had no right to hurt you; you were not his to punish. Show me where he hurt you."

Her hands tremble where she holds them up to me, palms upwards. "Here?" She nods, and I take them in mine and lower my mouth to kiss them reverently, never breaking contact with her fearful eyes. "Where else?"

She turns her cheek towards me. "Here?" I kiss along her cheekbone, and when I reach the centre of her cheek, she turns her face so that my lips may reach the other side. "Here too?"

Then she slowly bends her knees and indicates the lower part of her still uncovered thighs, just above the backs of her knees. A particularly painful place to be struck. I cannot reach them to kiss, so I kiss my hands and rub them gently over her soft flesh. "Anywhere else?" She begins to shake her head, then thinks better of it and shows me her forehead. "He struck you _here_?"

"No, but – well, his favourite punishment was to make me kneel and pray for forgiveness while he pushed my head into the cold, stone floor. He would pray over me as he did so. The more fervent his prayers became, the harder he would press on my head, until I begged for release. Please Edward, may we discuss something else? I do not wish to revisit my memories of him. I am so, _so_ grateful for you."

I would sooner hurt anyone than her, so I take her face in my hands once more and gently kiss the tension my lips encounter away.

We can talk about anything except the very devil, Black. But I find it impossible to rid my thoughts of inflicting the worst pain I can think of on the bastard, before murdering him with my bare hands.

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The stone wall that my grandfather built around Forbrigg begins miles from the entrance, and I am ridiculously excited to show it to Bella. When we reach the heavily wooded corner where the wall begins, I seat her on my lap against the window so that she can look out.

Bella remains quiet, but I watch the expression on her profile carefully, and it appears to be awe that silences her.

When we reach the dip in the wall where the stones have fallen, Jacob reins in the horses, just as I requested. My angel looks at me in surprise, but I ignore her and clamber out before lifting her into my arms and carrying her to the broken bricks. We peer over them together.

"Oh! Donkeys! Oh, look! Oh, they are adorable – I have never seen so many together. Why do you breed donkeys?"

"The King's army pays good money for them, that is why," I say, taking the sack of apples Jacob holds out to me. I hold one up and call to them. Contrary to belief, they are intelligent creatures, perhaps more so than horses. They soon crowd around us, eyeing us curiously.

"Here," I pass Bella an apple and she holds it out to a youngster. He takes it delicately from her outstretched palm and runs off skittishly in case he is made to share. I scan the field. "Look Bella, over there in the corner, do you see him?"

"What is that, Edward? Good heavens, is that a camel?"

I laugh. She is adorable herself. "No, my love, that is a llama. There is an estate near King's Lynn that imports exotic animals for circuses and fairs and the like. This old fellow caused them more trouble than he was worth, so we took him in. He seems fairly content to dwell amongst the donkeys."

Her eyes are shining as she turns in my arms to kiss my cheek. "You really do take in all manner of waifs and strays, my Lord. Thank you for showing me." I squeeze her tight, then whirl her around and back to the carriage.

"Nearly there – come on, I am impatient to be home now." Jacob closes the carriage door behind us, and we feel the lurch as he jumps onto the driver's seat. I believe he is impatient to be home too.

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The driveway is long. The house finally comes into view and Isabella allows another 'oh' to escape her lips. I try to imagine what she is thinking, but truly, the scene is too familiar to me to place myself in her shoes.

Someone has been on lookout duty. As Jacob pulls up close to the front entrance, the door opens. A line of staff in neatly washed and pressed uniforms emerges, almost like soldiers. What has Samuels been up to?

They stand in a line ready to greet us. Between each man or boy clad in dark grey, a woman or girl's pale grey dress billows in the breeze. They almost appear to have lined up in order of age, but I know it is actually in order of seniority that they stand at attention.

Samuels was a soldier once, I recall. Perhaps he misses his calling?

I look bemusedly to my bride, who is already blushing scarlet. "There is a welcoming party, I see. Shall we?" I smile at her and squeeze her hand to give her confidence. I am concerned that she will chew her lip right off, and what will I kiss then? I whisper, "I love you," in her ear, before clambering out and assisting her descent. I hope she will take courage from my words because first impressions are important.

I take her hand and lead her to the beginning of the line – Samuels himself, of course.

"Mr Samuels, may I introduce the new mistress of Forbrigg Estate, Lady Isabella Masen?"

He bows deeply to her. "Welcome home, your Ladyship." She smiles at him, and I cannot help but notice a faint flush warming his ears and cheeks.

"Thank you, Mr Samuels. I appreciate your welcome very much," she says, sweeping her hand in a gesture to encompass the whole line of staff. That she has acknowledged his leadership and the thoughtfulness behind the preparation bodes well for their relationship. I am really pleased.

Mrs C looks nervous, and I hope that her pinched face does not deter Isabella from noticing her true nature. "Mrs Clearwater, this is my beloved bride." Her face softens at once, and she curtseys deeply before mumbling something about how delighted she is for us both.

Bella flushes again, but her greeting is warm and clear. "Thank you, Mrs Clearwater. Lord Masen has told me much about you, and I am so pleased to meet you."

We move on down the line, and though I greet each staff member by name, I cannot expect my wife to take them all in. She is kind and gracious to everyone, of course. Grace could be her middle name.

Before we have reached the end of the welcoming committee, to my surprise I see Laurent stroll around the corner of the house, a small boy in tow. They join the end of the line.

It is not until we are very close that I recognise the boy from the beach. Isabella is bent over talking to Jenny, the smallest of Mrs C's scullery maids. I nod to Laurent, and he winks at me, ruffling the boy's hair. I catch what the new Lady Masen is saying: "...mother's name is Jenny, too. My father calls her his Jenny Wren, like the nursery rhyme. Does anyone call you Jenny Wren?" The girl nods slowly, her eyes wide in awe at being addressed by someone so grand; I am not certain she has taken in a word that has been said to her, though I have.

Swan must have some affection for his concubine, after all.

We move on to the newcomers. "I am afraid I do not know this young fellow's name," I say, bending down to pat the boy on the shoulder and trying to catch his eye. He keeps his eyes on the ground, which is a shame, because I want to take the measure of him.

"He still does not speak, my Lord; we have yet to name him – he responds to _boy_," says Laurent.

"Well, boy, I am very glad you are still with us. Lady Masen has been looking forward to meeting you."

"This is the boy?" she whispers to me.

"Yes."

She kneels right down in front of him, her skirts trailing in the dust, forcing the slip of a lad to look into her eyes. "Hello, young man. I am very glad you have found a home here. I am new here too. I hope you will look out for me when I am out on the grounds?"

The boy pulls himself up a little straighter – I think he grows an inch before my eyes. He opens his mouth, and a scratchy, high-pitched whisper emerges, but whether he actually forms words is difficult to tell. Laurent looks astonished. Bella smiles warmly at the lad. I offer her my hand, and she takes it, rising to face Laurent.

"This is my estate manager, Monsieur Laurent." She offers him her hand, and he takes it, bestowing the briefest of kisses upon her glove before bowing to her.

"I am honoured to meet you, my Lady, and may I wish you the greatest joy in your marriage and your life here."

"Thank you, Monsieur. I am very happy to be here." I take her hand back into mine and press it to my lips, hard. I see the truth of her happiness in her eyes, and I am suddenly overcome with an unfamiliar emotion I cannot name.

Without warning, I bend and sweep my wife off her feet and into my arms. Another of those wonderful little exclamations of surprise escapes her, and I grin as I almost run up the line of smiling staff to carry my bride over the threshold of our home.

I do not think our arrival at Forbrigg could have been any more auspicious.

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We have toured the house, taken tea in the orangery, walked a little way around the grounds and eaten an early supper in the dining room. Samuels asks whether we want the fire lit in the library, but Bella droops with exhaustion.

"No, we will retire early. Send someone up to prepare my room for Lady Masen, Samuels. I want everything she will need in there, plenty of hot water and towels, a hot fire, and the bed turned down."

"Of course, my Lord. All will be ready within half an hour, Sir."

A ball of nervous excitement makes its presence known in my gut. I pour a glass of sweet port for Bella from the decanter on the sideboard, and a glass of Scottish whiskey for myself.

Bella takes a small sip and puts her glass down. "No, drink it Angel. It will – you may be thankful for it." She looks at me strangely but does what I ask. The ruby wine stains her lips slightly, which makes me want to taste them. So I do.

They do taste good.

"I hope you do not mind my liberty in deciding our sleeping arrangements for the time being, Bella."

"The room you have chosen for me is beautiful, Edward, but I confess, I hate to sleep alone. I slept in a bed with Rose all of my life, and when she married Mr Cullen, I could not sleep at all. Is it very childish of me to be frightened of the dark?"

There is that emotion again, clutching at my heart. "Sweetheart, with all that you have lived through, and the strength that you have, it is almost a relief to me to know that you are frightened of something; that I can protect you from something at least."

"Really?" She smiles, reaching up to stroke my face. "You do not think me ridiculous then?"

"No," I say, emphatic in my disbelief. "I think you so far from ridiculous, I would offer your counsel to the King if I thought he would listen. And keep his hands off you, which he wouldn't, though who would blame him? I cannot keep my hands off you myself."

"Then touch me if you please," she whispers; so I do.

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"This is where we keep the throne," I tell her, opening the door to the closet where the heavy mahogany chair is kept, the lid over the bowl in the seat lifted to expose the pretty pot inside. "And that door there leads into my room, in case you have forgotten. I will leave you to your ablutions with Emily; how long do you need?"

She blushes prettily. "Not long – less than a quarter hour."

"Then I will attend to some business and meet you back here very soon, my Lady." I kiss her once more and head back down the servant's stairs to the hallway below. I almost send Emily, running up the narrow steps with an armful of clean linens, flying.

"Oh, your Lordship, I didn't see you there. Dear me, I am so sorry."

"Nonsense, Emily, I am the one to apologise. Up you go, Lady Masen awaits you."

"Yes Sir, sorry Sir." Her curtsey almost sends her stumbling back down the stairs. I steady her with my hand, and she blushes deep red. She and my wife will get on just fine. What is in the blood of these women that they flush so much of the time?

I make my way out into the garden to piss against the hedge. The stars are so bright in the sky tonight, and the scent of blossom fills the cool air. An owl hoots relentlessly nearby, and that may be an answering call some way off.

It has not been very long, but I cannot keep myself busy any longer. I walk swiftly back inside and bound up the stairs like a schoolboy on his way to pack for the holidays.

I knock on my own bedroom door – a novelty in itself – and a still blushing Emily opens it for me. Bella is seated at my dresser, a new nightgown, frothy with lace, covering her body. She is unpinning her hair. I kiss her forehead.

Emily is busy gathering clothes and tidying them away. I sit on the bed to watch Bella brush out her hair while I pull off my boots and stockings. I undo my cravat and pull off my shirt, and move over to the washstand, grabbing a cloth to dip into the water and swipe under my arms and around my neck.

"Thank you, Emily, you can go now." I turn in surprise – there is a steely tone to Isabella's command. Emily's eyes are on the floor, and she clutches my shirt to her bosom.

"But Mr Samuels said..." she mumbles, looking mortified for some reason.

"Never mind what Mr Samuels said, we can do for ourselves now. Go on, we will ring if we need you."

I don't know what the girl has done to evoke the tone Bella is using, but whatever it is, I will not tolerate it. I raise my eyebrow at her – usually enough to make the staff here jump, but she has to look at me first. "Emily!" Now she jumps and looks up at me. "You heard my Lady, why are you still here?"

"I'm so sorry," she mumbles and runs for the door, taking my clothes with her. No matter. When the latch clicks softly behind her, I turn to Bella in consternation, and she bursts into laughter.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

"No! It does not matter. I really doubt it will happen again, my L... - Edward."

"I see," I say, although I don't see at all. I return to washing, and now that we are alone, I feel comfortable stripping the remainder of my clothes off and washing everywhere that counts. When I have almost finished drying myself, I turn around to find my wife staring at me.

"Bella?"

"Yes S... yes, Edward?"

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course. Actually, no. I am a little nervous." She twists her hands together in her lap. I walk over to her and kneel at her feet, an already familiar position. I take her hands in mine.

"Don't be afraid – not of me, Sweetheart." I reach up to her face and stroke her soft cheek in the same way that she stroked mine downstairs. "Are you ready for bed, Angel?" She nods, torturing that poor lip again.

I stand and lead her over to the bed. Somehow, soothing her nerves calms my own. I turn to bank up the fire and snuff the lamps until only two remain, softly glowing on either side of where we will lie together. All the while, I feel Isabella's eyes on me, watching as I perform my role as protector. Finally, I climb up to lie beside her.

"Are you too tired? We can go straight to sleep if you prefer."

She does not answer, only stares at me again, with huge eyes and – damn: "Please stop doing that." I push my thumb into her mouth and gently force her teeth away from her lip. She kisses my thumb instead, and I leave it there while the point of her tongue traces patterns on it.

No, we are not sleeping – not yet, anyway.

"Take off your nightgown."

Once again, she obeys me instantly. I withdraw my thumb as she sits up, fiddles with a ribbon at her throat and pulls the gown up and over her head. She lies back down, utterly naked.

I could lose myself in the sight of her exquisite form. Her breasts alone could make an artist weep.

I run my hand up her body, from her hips to her breasts, which I gather in my palm, first one and then the other. My hand looks so big placed on her pale flesh. I retrace my path, then begin again, stroking, feeling her warmth, her lovely tone. I drag my thumb and fingers across her nipples, one then the other, and I notice the tiny arch of her back that pushes them further into my grasp.

"Isabella Marie Masen?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Are you ready to give yourself to me? May I take my pleasure inside you?" Even to my own ears, my voice sounds low, serious, reverent.

Her breath shudders, and her body relaxes into the mattress before she gives her response. "Please, Edward. I am yours – I have given myself to you already. Please."

I am not certain what she pleads for, but I take her permission as granted. Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them away.

"Here," I take her hands and hold them above her head, pushing them around the pillow that cushions her there. "Hold on to this." She grips the down-filled rectangle tightly, and it takes on the shape of a cylinder instead.

I take another pillow, and lifting her hips, place it under them so that she is raised and naturally open to me. I push her legs apart and bend my head to kiss her exposed sex.

She smells – and tastes – delectable. I lick her folds, pressing my tongue between her lips, finding the slick musk there. I can hear her tiny exclamations, but it is my own pleasure I lose myself in as I feast on her. I shift my position until I am knelt between her legs, my cock pressing down into the bed, my face buried in her wet flesh. My tongue finds her entrance, and I thrust inside, while my fingers hold her open. Her hips squirm and push beneath me. I move my mouth up her slit until I find her hooded bud. I suck at it, and she stiffens suddenly, exclaiming loudly enough to penetrate my own lust.

Lifting my face, I can see her still pulsing sex, splayed open by my fingers – and I have to be inside her; right now.

I position my body over hers, press my cock at her entrance and warn her with my words. "Hold on tight, Angel, I am going to take you now." I push a tiny way inside of her, and I can feel her barrier, like a thin piece of cotton stretched across my path. There is nothing for it but to push hard. "I'm sorry, Bella." I thrust myself into her, and she gives, easily, a quiet groan falling from her mouth. I still, deep inside her hot, wet, heavenly quim.

"Oh, Bella, Bella, Angel," I cannot help myself, "You feel beautiful, just exactly right. I am so sorry, does it hurt?"

"It hurts a little, Edward, but in a good way. I want you there. I would take any amount of pain for you," she whispers this last part so quietly I almost do not hear her. I have to move; I cannot bear to be still inside of her any more. I gently withdraw and push back, feeling the slick resistance of her tight passage as it softly grips my cock. I groan with my pleasure and repeat the process, slowly building to a steady rhythm.

My hands find my wife's, gripping the pillow at her head so hard. I hold it too, though the soft, worn linen feels like an inadequate material for my tight grip. I lower my mouth to her nipple, standing stiffly to attention so that I cannot resist it. I suck and push until Bella's soft grunts become little moans of pleasure. I speed up until I have lost control of my senses, gripping and shouting as I shoot my seed deep, deep inside of her.

Sweet, merciful Heaven, that was an extraordinary experience.

When I come back to my senses, I have to laugh, and not only because of the release of tension and restraint.

We are surrounded by feathers. Down fills the air, the sheets, my angel's hair – we are both covered in it. I must have ripped the pillow apart. Good Lord, what have I done? I blow feathers off Bella's face, and she laughs.

She laughs.

The sound – oh, thank God. I cannot have hurt her too badly, if she can laugh straight away.

I roll her into my arms, and we embrace and tussle in the feathery mess, release and relief making us silly with delight and love, and more laughter.

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Pale light creeps around the heavy drapes when I awake, heart pounding once again. I lie back down, facing the beauty asleep in my bed.

_Our_ bed. What was mine is now also hers.

I smooth away the lock of hair that perpetually falls across her face at night. She smiles in her dreams. She mumbles, too. If I watch her lips, I can make out some of the words. _Edward _appears to be the dominant theme. Good.

There are still feathers in her hair. They have escaped from the sack we made of the torn pillow case – capturing them was an amusing lesson in patience and control – and I am grateful I have staff who will clean them up properly. That is what I pay them for, after all.

Thoughts of the staff lead me to the episode with the maid last night. I wonder what Emily did to upset Bella. I liked the way she dealt with the girl, so I ought not ask; but it niggles at me. I am a curious fellow.

My thoughts turn again, this time to Isabella's upbringing – she and Rose shared the role their mother ought to have taken between them, so it is no surprise that my wife is used to handling servants. By all accounts, the staff come and go so quickly in the Swan household, Sir Charles never bothers to learn their names. Although Alice stayed with them for years... it will be good for Bella to have her Alice here; it will only be another two or three days...

Thinking aimlessly like this as I stroke my Angel's soft hair is very pleasant. I cannot bear to lie in bed awake, but today I have absolutely no desire to move.

Inevitably, though, I begin to contemplate less salubrious thoughts. Black. Black, Black, Black.

Bella's small, soft body rests so peacefully between my sheets. She looks innocent and delicate. My only desire is to bring her joy, to protect her from all pain. How anyone could imagine her behaviour deserving of inflicting corporal punishment is beyond me. That her fool of a father had the right to do so, I can force myself to accept; but the thought of Black touching her in any way, yet alone to inflict pain, has me incensed beyond reason.

In-between listening to the quiet breaths and mumbled utterances of my dear, sweet wife, I plot his downfall.

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Dun dun duuunnnn... sorry, I've always wanted to say that.

Thank you for reading; I apologise if any of you did not receive an expected review reply, I tried hard, but FF went a little wonky.

I have posted a fabulous and hilarious manip by Robshandmonkey on my profile – 'Davidward'. He's beautiful.

What do you think Emily was up to? What do you think Edward will do about Mr Black?

Thank you for all your magic and wonderfulness. Merry Christmas! Next post – in a fortnight – on New Year's day.

I am Gingerandgreen on Twitter. me.


	11. Chapter 10  From This Day Forward

**It is the first day of 2012 and I am posting the half-way chapter of my Twilight fanfic, the origins of which are accredited to Stephenie Meyer. This has to be an auspicious start to the year, agreed?**

**This chapter is dedicated to you, gentle readers. It's a happy chapter because you, with your alerts and your favourites; your reviews and your recommendations; your kindness and your enthusiasm – you make me _very_ happy. Thank you.**

**Cared and Perry and my man have used their ninja reading skills to polish this until it gleams like the brass on a Forbrigg carriage when Jacob is finished with it. They are beautiful people and I love them. Especially my man. * winks * Mistakes are all theirs. (Joke! Just checking you're paying attention).**

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**Chapter 10 – This day forward**

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I have lived a good life, I think. I have worked hard and take my responsibilities to heart. I imbibed the tenets of gentlemanly behaviour with my infant milk, and have never taken what has not been freely offered, even in the business sphere. When my father died, I placed my very soul in the soil of Forbrigg to keep my staff well fed and employed.

Isabella is my reward. I must have pleased God, for she is heaven on earth, she truly is. I had no idea how much joy there is in loving a woman.

My cousin feels similarly. The day following our arrival at Forbrigg, I received his letter, more than a little relieved he was not offended by my interference.

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_8__th__ April 1795_

My Dear Friend,

To tell you I was startled by your note would be to understate the matter grossly, but I am pleased to write to you in thanks, for your words have changed my situation profoundly. I knew that Rose was keeping secrets from me, but had no idea of their gravity. When confronted with your note, she broke down and related all. It near broke my heart to hear it, and then again to understand that she expected to be returned to that cold place she once called home as soon as the truth was out. As if I could bear to be separated from my Heart under any circumstances!

We have talked and talked the matter through, and I feel we are closer now than we have ever been. If I did not believe the fiend already dead, I would hunt that so-called tutor down and kill him myself. Sir Charles informs me he no longer lives, and I believe him.

We have this afternoon dined with Swan and his miserable wife. Rose is concerned about her, and I feel the same. Miss Isabella has been Lady Masen for two days, leaving her mother alone; and already the lady seems to have slipped down into a very dark place from which she can barely be aroused. We have invited her to stay, but Swan will not hear of it. His excuse is that we are too close to warrant it. May I suggest an invitation to visit Forbrigg will be met with less resistance?

So, how goes married life? Tell me all, dear fellow. What say you to a London season? We may both keep our brides happy with promises to see one another ere long.

Greetings to your dear wife; my own has written to her sister already.

Your cousin,

Emanuel Cullen

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_13__th__ April 1795_

Bella bustles around with Emily, preparing for Jasper and Alice's arrival. She is excited, and if I am honest, I am too. I cannot contain my happiness, and I look forward to sharing what I have learned of love with my brother.

Emily retreats with a list of instructions, and Bella and I are left alone in the breakfast room – the first time we have taken a meal here together since we arrived. Our other breakfasts have involved bed and fingers; and morsels of sweet cake and fruit; and feminine nectar. I harden at the thought, and as if she can sense it, Bella's eyes turn to mine. She smiles softly, lovingly at me.

"I think Emily will be relieved when she no longer has to perform her personal duties to me," she says.

"Oh? You seem to have reached a good understanding. Does she not enjoy the work?"

Bella laughs. "No, she has found this role a little challenging. She will be happy to be back in the kitchen. She is an excellent baker, I hear."

"What did she do? That first evening, when you sent her away. Your firm tone...that was very – attractive." I take her hand in mine, stroking her palm with my thumb.

"You found me attractive when I sent Emily off for gawping at you?"

I laugh this time. "Is that what she was doing? That happens to me a lot." I run my hand through my hair, mildly embarrassed at my admission.

"Truly? Tell me you do not allow your serving staff to ogle your half naked body on a regular basis." I have to laugh at the affront in Bella's tone as she stands and retreats to the sideboard.

"No, I most certainly do not. I have only had menservants attend me since my early youth. Believe me, I do not ask for any of the female attention I receive." I shake my head, recalling the uncomfortable feeling that accompanies much of the unwarranted attention. Jasper suffers from it too, I am certain.

She arches an eyebrow at me in disbelief. Her teasing is charming, if only because it illustrates how comfortable she has become here with me in just a few short days. "I beg your pardon, my Lady; your eyebrows compel me to tell the truth: there is one female whose attention I wholeheartedly demand."

Bella folds her arms protectively across her bosom, although the act only serves to enhance her considerable charm there. "I see. And whose would that be?" She cannot hide her smile.

"A rather extraordinary beauty; a rare, exotic creature," I stalk slowly towards my wife as I speak, and she backs away from me, equally slow. "A lady of fine taste and demure habits; a lady who certainly would not run from her amorous Lord."

On cue, my angel giggles and turns on her heels to run from me, lifting her skirts above her delicate ankles so as not to trip on them. For a moment, the sight distracts me, and she achieves some distance, but I soon catch up to her, grasping her around the waist and spinning her to face me. "Come here you minx," I growl, and she is all laughter and breath and warm flushes in my arms. I bend to kiss her lips, pressing her body against mine; I feel her minuscule resistance melt away as she pushes her small tongue into my mouth. The world could end as we embrace, and I would know nothing of it.

It is not the bustle, the draft, or the loud voices which penetrate our awareness, but the sudden silence thereafter. Isabella breaks away first and peers around my torso. Her quiet exclamation and reddened cheeks alert me to the fact that we are standing in the hallway, and visitors have been admitted to it.

I turn, and there stands Jasper, trying very hard not to smile. Alice is behind him, staring intently at her shoes, but smiling broadly. I clear my throat.

"Good Lord, Jasper, you made good time. We did not expect you for a few hours yet."

"I see that, brother. If you would prefer, we could leave and pretend not to have come quite yet."

"Don't be a fool." I walk up to him and grasp his hand firmly. I would embrace him, but not in my current state of arousal. "We are very glad to see you. You too, Alice." She curtseys, a quick bob, still not taking her eyes off the floor. I think she is trying very hard not to laugh.

Jasper bows to Bella and kisses her hand. She still blushes furiously and avoids Alice's eyes as firmly as the girl avoids ours.

"Come, man, let me pour you a drink. You must be tired. Bella, Darling, call Mrs C to take care of Alice, and join us whenever you like."

"Yes, thank you, Edward." I think she understands I give her time to collect herself and greet Alice privately. We have barely reached the door to the breakfast room when girlish laughter breaks out. Jasper grins so broadly, I think his smile may run away with his face.

"So, Edward, married life is going well for you?"

"Lord, yes. We have barely risen from our bed since we arrived home. Marriage has a great deal to recommend it – we must start looking for a wife for you immediately, Jasper. You will not regret it."

"Steady on, man; I am not quite ready for matrimonial ties yet."

"Oh? Has the innocent young gentleman seen the allure of wild oats?" I tease. Jasper flushes slightly, and I am surprised. Perhaps he has taken a liking to someone, after all.

"No, no, nothing like that," he blusters and changes the subject. I must admit, I am intrigued at his response.

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"Jasper, what do you like to eat?"

I have answered several questions like this since Mrs C asked my wife for guidance on the meals she expects over the coming week.

My brother has been drifting off to sleep periodically – they must have had a very early start to the day. I kick his boot to make him respond.

"Oh, I am so sorry. What did you ask, sister?" My angel smiles – she likes the terms of endearment my brother has so quickly bestowed upon her.

"I was wondering what you were partial to eating. I am to discuss meals with Mrs Clearwater this afternoon, and I would very much like to accommodate all our tastes."

"Ah. Well, I am very partial to game of all kinds. And I have recently developed a taste for rice puddings."

"Really? Oh, that is all we could get Alice to eat, isn't it Jasper? Rice puddings and the occasional bowl of broth. She does look well, I must say. Plumper than I have seen her in a long while. She is so happy to be here, Edward, she could not stop talking; you ought to have heard her." She smiles fondly at me and takes my hand to kiss it. I leave it lingering at her lips, stroking her cheek with my thumb.

"We have the Webbs coming to dine tomorrow, Jasper," I say, not taking my eyes off my wife's, "and the following day we have quite a gathering planned. It may well turn into a dance; you know what the Fieldings and the Barbers are like. We thought it would be easiest to get the bulk of the introductions done at once."

"Poor Lady Masen. You know this will lead to a rash of dinners and card evenings and dances in your honour, sister."

She nods, slightly apprehensive. "Edward has warned me that I will be the object of curiosity for a time."

"Curiosity and no small amount of jealousy, I imagine. Every young lady within an hundred miles hoped to ensnare your husband, you know. Single or no."

"Come now, Jasper, you exaggerate." Bella has stiffened by my side, I do not wish to cause her alarm.

"I do not, but Isabella need not be concerned. They will soon see how smitten you are. Perhaps one or two of them will notice the younger brother for a change."

"Oh Jasper, you are so handsome, I am certain the ladies must flock after you in droves," says Bella.

"Excuse me, my lady, but I thought you had eyes for none but me!" I meant only to tease, but I see Bella wince and regret the slight sharpness of my tone at once. I soften my words with a quick and gentle kiss on her lips, which my brother pretends not to see. I whisper in her ear, "There need be no fear between us, my Heart. My eyes will never, ever stray from yours; and I trust you beyond all reason. We were meant to be together always; believe me."

"I know," she whispers back. The certainty and love in her expression make my chest swell with emotion. I lean over and slap Jasper's leg.

"Take a nap, young man. You look worn out. Isabella and I have some business we need to attend to." I stand and pull my confused wife up with me. Jasper salutes us knowingly, and I pull my angel with me out of the morning room, along the hallway and up the winding staircase.

"Edward, where are we going?" I pause to think for a moment – Samuels has taken the opportunity to shift the furniture around in my room to capture the remaining feathers; they have been a bugger to remove. Alice is most likely making herself comfortable in the small room adjoining Isabella's bedroom. I have an idea.

"This way." There is a guest bedroom at the rear of the house that is kept prepared for visitors who cannot make it home of an evening. It is a pleasant and airy space, with pale blue walls and a bed with a wicker-worked headboard. The room is light and feminine. I pull the door firmly shut behind us, flicking the lock into place.

I push Bella's warm body up against the door, restraining her with my hips. I am both desperate for her and full of need to love and gentle her. I grasp the back of her neck with one hand and kiss her roughly; but the other tenderly strokes her breast, the lightest of touches circling her tight nipple. Her hands rest lightly on my upper arms, but her lower region betrays her response to me, pushing back against me and writhing in the small space I allow her.

I pull back to gaze at her. "I know it has only been a few hours, my darling, but somehow Jasper's presence – knowing I cannot have you the minute I want you, makes me desire you even more. May I?"

"Yes, please," she murmurs, and her enthusiasm melts the remnants of my self control. I push her dress and petticoats up around her hips and trace my fingers over her sex. Her lips are still swollen from our early morning coupling, and her response to my touch is instant. I suck my glistening fingers clean before unfastening my breeches, releasing my straining cock. Gripping her bare thighs, I bend and lift her against the door until her sex rests against me. I support her there with one hand while the other parts her folds. I slide myself into position and push myself into the place I have come to believe my natural home.

Heaven.

She feels perfect in this position, but thrusting into her becomes awkward – we keep knocking the door, and I do not wish to attract more attention. Our groans mingle with our laughter as I attempt to shuffle us to the bed. I really regret leaving my breeches around my ankles. Thankfully, the bed is a good height for us, and I lower Bella's bottom to the edge of the mattress. She lies back, leaving the place we are adjoined wide open to my gaze. She is exquisite, and watching my cock slowly pumping in and out of her is a mesmerising sight.

I part her lips with the fingers of one hand and stroke around her bud with the other. "Look at you, Bella, so open to me, so breathtakingly beautiful," I breathe, and a new surge of slick moisture drenches her quim and my cock. Knowing that I please her increases my excitement, and I push into her harder and faster, rubbing her with slick fingers. She arches her back and clenches around me, a low groan emerging from deep inside of her, and I am undone.

"Thank you, thank you," I punctuate my kisses; she can do no more than smile at me – I believe I have worn her out, although I did all the work. I grin back – this is work I will gladly do at any time of the day or night.

I slowly withdraw, and her legs close and sink back to the mattress. "Now we are faced with a difficulty, my Angel."

"Hmmm? What difficulty is that, Edward?"

"We have no water, no towels, and no means to wash. We will have to find somewhere else to do that."

"Oh! I don't think I can walk anywhere yet." It oughtn't, but somehow rendering her so languorous makes me feel very proud. I button myself up and smooth down her skirts before unlocking and opening the door. She does not stir. I sweep my arms under her legs and shoulders and carry her out of the room, pausing to nuzzle her sweet nose with my own. She looks so happy.

"Where to, my queen?"

"Take me to my room, knight in shining armour; I believe my handmaiden awaits me there," she says, sounding lazy and imperious, and utterly adorable. To her room – for the first time since arriving at Forbrigg – we head.

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_15__th__ April 1795_

Somehow, our receiving room is filled to the brim with folk I do not wish to converse with. I keep losing sight of my bride, who is constantly whisked from group to group by prim spinsters and maiden aunts, all of whom believe it their duty to take my wife under their wings. How Forbrigg and her surrounds came to be filled with single women is beyond me. What on earth is wrong with all the men?

Jasper is just as bad as the rest of them. Here he stands, huddled in a corner with a group of young rakes, eyeing up the poor girls who have spent hours on their hair and dress, yet not interacting with them at all. What are they frightened of?

I suppose I was just as bad before I met my Isabella. I clap my hand around my brother's shoulders and address the group: "Gentlemen! What say we relieve the fathers and uncles of their dancing duties and take a turn with some of the lovely young ladies in the room? It is not often we hold an impromptu dance at Forbrigg, and I do not wish the first to be known as the one at which the gentlemen refused to act as such!"

"You are quite right, Edward, we must dance," says Jasper, and I am grateful for his agreeable nature once again. The group disperses. I search the room once more for my beautiful girl, and it is not until I find her cornered by two of these same young men that I understand their game. I catch her eye and wink. She smiles demurely before managing to extricate herself from the group she is with and makes her way towards me.

The condition upon which Bella agreed to host a dance at Forbrigg is that she only dance with me. She was persuaded at the last minute to allow one dance with Jasper and one with Monsieur Laurent, so as not to be labelled a snob by the community – this was at Alice's suggestion, I believe. Apparently, my wife does not like to dance. Except with me.

She is very singular in this aspect of her character, as every other young lady in the world appears to love dancing. I am thankful it is a gentleman's prerogative to ask because women of all ages and circumstances have been flirting with me outrageously all evening. Surely they understand my status as a newly wed man means I have eyes for none other than my lady? Indeed, I believe that when I am an old married man, I will feel the same way. Mr and Mrs Webb were reminiscing yesterday at how alike my wife and I were to my father and mother. Even after my mother's early passing - to the best of my knowledge - my father never contemplated another woman's charms.

We reach one another as a new set is about to begin, and the world is set to rights. I lean down to whisper in her ear, an excuse to place my lips upon her because I have not kissed her in hours. "Shall we dance, Angel? No one can whisk you away from me if we are dancing."

"Of course! I did not think of that. We could dance a lot. I suddenly have the urge to dance all night long." She smiles at me and takes my proffered arm. We take our places in the set, and even across the way from me, her perfume surrounds me.

Heaven.

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"Oh, look at that, Edward – Jacob has acquired a little shadow."

"He doesn't seem too pleased by it." I laugh – Jacob's demeanour is so comical. Boy trails behind him as he prepares the barouche for an impromptu outing for Bella and me while the sun shines so warmly. I would have preferred to ride, but Bella has never even sat on a horse before. Her guardians believed horse riding to be _unladylike_. Imbeciles, both.

"Boy," Bella calls him over to us, earning a relieved nod from taciturn Jacob. My ladylike wife squats down in the dust and dirt to speak to the youngster. "Do you like horses?" He nods, vigorously. "I am a little frightened of them myself. You seem to be at ease amongst them. Would you introduce me to a gentle one, so that I can begin to conquer my fear?"

The lad stares at her, wide-eyed. He holds out his small, scruffy hand, and to her credit, Isabella does not flinch from taking it. He helps her to her feet and leads her over to the stable at the far end, where Bessie lives. She is an old work horse, mostly retired now, but we all love her character and cannot bear to part with her. She is not what I would call a gentle horse. I follow close behind.

Bessie looks at Bella with disdain at first. Boy makes some clicking noises and appears to be mumbling at the mare, very, very quietly. The horse leans her head down and affectionately nudges Boy in his stomach. He strokes her lovingly, even places a kiss upon her weathered brow. Then he reaches out once more for Isabella's hand and places it on Bessie's neck.

When Bella begins to talk, I think she addresses the boy, but then I realise it is the horse who is the object of her attention. Then I change my mind again – it is the boy, really. "Thank you for allowing me to touch you. I have never touched a horse before. You really are very kind. There are so many differences here to my old home, the number of horses being one of them. I was not allowed anywhere near noble creatures like you before. I am trying to embrace every change, but without friends like Boy here, the obstacles would be hard to overcome. I notice every kindness, and I am so grateful for the opportunity to accept them. People in my old home were not often kind, but I have put all that behind me now, and I thank God every day for bringing me here. Do horses speak to God? I daresay they do. I daresay you thank the Lord for kind boys who understand you so well." She glances at the lad, her eyes expressing her warmth and caring.

As though she understands the conversation completely, Bessie wickers softly and nods her head up and down. She nudges Boy again, and he presses his face to her long nose.

I think Jacob has gained himself an apprentice.

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_1__st__ May 1795_

My Dear Cousin,

How are your plans for London proceeding? We will begin our journey on the 31st of this month, stopping off with Peter and Lottie, so we expect to arrive on the 2nd of June. Bella is so excited to see her sister again, as I am sure you know. Are you certain you cannot reside with us, even for a few days? I understand your obligation to your aunt, but perhaps she could spare Rose at least? Or would it be too painful to be parted? Now that I consider it, I completely understand your reluctance to reside separately from your wife.

Isabella and I have had no luck in persuading Swan to be parted with his Wren. They will both come to Forbrigg in the autumn, however. I plan on exerting my considerable influence on him to allow my mother-in-law leave to remain once he has departed. I have acquainted myself with every business he has a finger in, and it would take only a few carefully worded letters to ruin him financially. I suspect he values appearance and wealth over family, so I foresee little difficulty in my plan to overthrow his tiny despotism. In the meantime, Bella writes to her mother frequently, detailing all the ways I act towards her that make her happy. She knows Swan monitors her mother's post, so her letters are meant for his education entirely. I hope he keeps them – she is a great wit and paints a merry picture of our blessed life here at Forbrigg.

My plans to avenge Black's treatment of my wife are at an impasse. I can find nothing on him. My only acquaintance who recalls anything about the man is James Hunter-Buttsgrove, and I will not approach him for anything. All I have on the vicar is that he makes frequent, brief sojourns to London; I hope to find out more when we are there. I will bring that man down if it is the last thing I do.

Bella hints that there may be a happy addition to your family in a few months. Have I understood her correctly? Let me know when congratulations are in order.

Your honoured friend,

Edward Masen

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_10__th__ May 1795_

"Bella, have you seen Jasper?" She is in the morning room with Mrs C, poring over household accounts. Sunshine streams in the window and plays with her soft hair, always escaping from the pins and caps and bows Alice attempts to tame it with.

"I believe he is out walking with Alice."

"With Alice?" How odd.

"Yes, they go over her lessons as they walk. They wanted to make the most of the lovely weather."

"Her lessons? What lessons?"

"Oh, didn't you know? He has been attempting to undo the teachings the vicar of Seat instilled in her. It is how he has helped her to regain her strength."

"I see." It does not escape my notice that my wife refuses to name her previous oppressor. The longer she spends with me, the more dead Black is to her. Good.

"I am sure they will return soon. Did you need him?"

"I wanted his opinion on something on the estate. No matter. Are you nearly done here? Would you like to come down to the sea with me?" Bella's eyes light up. She has been fascinated by the sea since the first time I took her to see it.

"Will we ride?"

"If you would like to." I grin. I can see that she would.

"Let me go and change. Oh, Mrs C, thank you so much; we can continue this later."

"Of course, my Lady. You go on and have fun. Will you be home in time for dinner, or would you like to take a picnic?"

"Oh! A picnic – do you have time to stay for a picnic, Edward?"

"I have time for anything that will make you glow this way, Angel. All the time in the world."

She blows me a kiss as she almost runs from the room, tripping slightly and catching herself steady over the Persian carpet in the hallway. I have to laugh – she is so sweet.

Heaven – I am in heaven in my own home. Long may it last.

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**I know, it was a bit shorter than usual, but I have been working incredibly hard on an Outtake for Famdoms4ME. **

**_Courage and Cowardice_ is a series of vignettes covering instances from Isabella's life, starting with a frightening discovery at age 12, and ending with the consummation of her marriage. Yes, you get to hear how it was for her! A bunch of great authors are donating stories too, and some lovely banners have been made. Please, please, please consider donating to this cause. You would not believe how profoundly my family and many others have been affected by this hugely debilitating illness.**

**Some of you very kindly voted for PTMT on the poll for fic of the week at tehlemonadestand dot blogspot dot com. As I post this, the web site informs me there are 11 hours left to vote. It is a wonderful place to find excellent writing. **

**Are you still here?**

**I am Gingerandgreen on Twitter. If you tell me to, I will follow you back.**

**Wish me a happy 2012 when you review – I need a good year. Peace, health and happiness to you all.**


	12. Chapter 11  For Better, For Worse

**Thank you for your generosity in allowing us to play with your characters, Ms Meyer.**

**This chapter is dedicated to my beautiful daughters. Fate has decreed a different kind of childhood, particularly for my youngest; but perhaps it has repaid them in other ways. May they always know true love.**

**January is a hard month; but if you have $5, would you consider donating it to a CFS/ME research fund? Fandoms4me dot blogspot dot com is where you can find out more. Apart from a Bella pov from PTMT, you can receive stories from some lovely, lovely authors. It would mean _so very much to me_ – I will never ask you for anything else.**

**This chapter marks the beginning of the reason for the drama tag. Hold hands and stick together, gentle readers...**

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**Chapter 11 – For Better, For Worse**

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_2__nd__ June 1795_

Our journey to London has been slightly delayed because Alice has been indisposed. Samuels suggested we send her on by Post, but I would never allow a young woman in my care to travel unprotected. The very idea is preposterous, even though the Post carriages are reported to be the safest means of transport.

Jasper happily agreed with my decision. We would not normally delay our London season until June - I expected him to ride down alone, earlier in May. He understands how overwhelming the experience of city life could be for Bella and has been content to wait in Norfolk with us. I know he has acquaintances that he has not seen for some time, and he is missing some of the most popular balls and soirées. I suppose he is serious about not being interested in marriage yet. I was the same until I encountered my Bella.

June is the height of the season, and six weeks of excitement will more than suffice for us. Em agrees – he does not want his wife, in her delicate state, to be overcome by the shenanigans of London society.

Alice has not inconvenienced us long, poor girl. When Bella was indisposed a few weeks back, we barely noticed. She wore her most padded petticoat and that was that. We did not interrupt our coupling for it, I am very pleased to say. In fact, there was so little blood, I may not have noticed except that my wife regained some of her shyness.

It is beyond my understanding how women believe they can hide their natural rhythms from men. When Bella relayed the news that Alice was too ill to travel, of course I asked for her symptoms. I was concerned. The coy response she gave immediately alerted me to the true nature of her maid's '_illness_'. When I went to see Alice, I was not prepared for how affected she was. Her pale, drawn face and bent posture could not be hidden, even from fallible male eyes.

Evidently, Alice has suffered in this way before, but not for many months. It is a pity that her regained health and vigour have been rewarded by pain and blood loss. Although she appears somewhat recovered today, Mrs C has made gallons of beef tea for the carriage ride. She insists that Bella will benefit from it too.

My wife looks the very picture of glowing health. Her beauty grows as our happiness does. She is excited, and her cheeks are flushed – I have to measure their temperature with my lips. As she trips towards me in the cool hallway, I clasp her face between my hands and kiss her everywhere. Her nose, her eyelids, her hot cheeks, her sweet chin, and finally her giggling lips.

"Are we ready to be off, woman?" I tease her between kisses; she nods vigorously, bumping her nose against mine. "Good. Tie that bonnet on your lovely head and get yourself out there. Jasper waits for you. Impatiently!" I call the last over my shoulder as I stride towards the library to fetch the letters I read last night. I think we have everything, but having sent Samuels and the other servants on ahead, I am anxious to be thorough. I rely on that man too much.

I make my farewells to Mrs C and hop into the carriage. Alice is travelling inside with us – she sits opposite Bella, squeezing her tiny frame as far apart from my brother as the cramped space allows. I pull my happy wife onto my lap and shift across the seat so that Jasper can stretch his legs out. He smiles at my gallantry.

"Is Boy sitting up there next to Jacob? They will chatter like maidens all the way to London," he remarks, a wry smile illustrating his dry humour.

"Seth," says Bella, bewilderingly.

"God bless you, dear." Jasper's wit is in top form this morning.

"Oh, I did not sneeze Jasper! I mean, his name is Seth. Boy – Boy's Christian name is Seth."

"He has spoken to you?" I think the surprise in my voice may have hurt Bella's feelings, as she turns to me with a frown.

"Yes, we speak every day, Edward. Is that surprising?"

"Well, frankly, yes, Bella. I had no idea – when do you speak? What does he say to you?"

"When I take my walk, I begin at the stables. When Jacob can spare him, Seth accompanies me for a time. We talk about many things. He is a dear boy; I am very fond of him."

"And you are a very dear wife." I nuzzle my face into her neck before kissing her once-again flushed cheek. "Have I mentioned today how much I adore you? What else goes on under my very nose without my seeing it?"

"Nothing at all," interjects Jasper, rather curtly. Perhaps I ought to tone the affection down a little. I had almost forgotten we were accompanied, so taken was I with delight in my compassionate and gloriously scented wife.

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Bella is a little travel sick. It surprises us both, as she was unaffected when we travelled previously. We have to stop after a mere hour for the ladies to relieve themselves. Before we set off again, Alice insists that Bella drink some of the beef tea, and it appears to fortify her. Alice still feels a little ill herself, so Jasper and I attempt to distract them from their discomfort with tales of our childhood. We soon have them laughing, and before we know it, we have arrived in Cambridge.

I settle the party down at the Eagle and Child on Bene't St, where Jacob can change the horses and I can slip out to pick up the new calling cards I have ordered. One set is for Bella, and the other includes both our names. I think it highly unlikely that Bella will go calling without me, except to see Rose perhaps, but I wanted to surprise her with the cards.

When I return, it is difficult to force my way through the crowds. A concert is in progress, a string sextet alternating with a small madrigal choir. The music is beautiful – I cannot identify it, but the strings play, and when they still, the voices echo their magic. I find a vantage point from which I can observe both Bella and the musicians, leaning against a beam so that the pocket in my tailcoat is not accessible to pickpockets. I am at leisure to observe, entranced by the awed expression on her features.

Her lips are parted and her breastbone moves quickly, as though she draws shallow breaths. I am close enough to see tears shining in her eyes. Indeed, one tear falls, slowly making its way down her smooth cheek to disappear into the tendrils of hair playing about her ear lobe. She makes no move to wipe it away.

How cruel, to have kept a creature so appreciative of fine music as this, away from its delights. The only concerts Isabella and Rose attended in their hometown were country affairs; unstudied amateur musicians doing their best, to be sure, but no masters of the arts. I vow to rectify this wrong. My Angel shall hear music worthy of her attention.

When I make my way over to her as the music ends, she turns to watch my approach. Her awed expression does not falter. She stands and I take her gently in my arms, feeling her heart race where my hand presses against her back. "Oh, Edward," she whispers.

"I know, Sweetheart." I soothe her with a soft voice. "I know."

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Setting off from Saffron Walden the following morning marks a return of Bella's travel sickness. We stopped in this pretty and ancient town because Peter and Charlotte left for the city on schedule – we would have stayed with them and travelled together otherwise. Travelling in larger parties is always safer. They will be settled in Rose Crescent by now.

We make slow progress down to London, but eventually the particular odour that heralds the city makes its presence known in our carriage.

"Whatever you do, Bella, Alice, while you are in London, do _not_ drink the water. It will make you very ill."

"What are we to drink then, Sir?" asks Alice, her eyes round as marbles in her tiny face.

"Ale, wine, tea, coffee, chocolate – if the water is well boiled, it will not harm you. The staff know what they are about, Alice, you need not fear."

Bella smiles fondly at her maid, and reaches over to squeeze her hand. They are both tight as a violin's string with nervous excitement. These two behave more like sisters than mistress and servant.

The noise outside has increased considerably. Soon we are in the thick of busy streets, alive with vendors and pedestrians, carriages and horses, even the odd sedan chair. Bella sits on my knee again, straining to peer out of the small window of the carriage, while Jasper has kindly made room for Alice on the other side. Bella is silent for the greater part, but her maid gives us a running commentary on the modes of dress, hairstyles, hats and boots she can see along the way. My brother and I find it difficult to hide the laughter she engenders. Although I suspect we need not bother, for she is utterly oblivious to us.

Finally, Jacob pulls up outside our house in King's Square. I own several of the properties here, and I point them out to my wife as she stares with wide eyes at the relatively quiet and ordered space. I am pleased to see how well tended the gardens in the centre are. There is a peaceful atmosphere here in the midst of London chaos.

Samuels greets us at the door. I can see that he is eager to share news about the premises, visitors who have called and left cards, the usual business. But I silence him with a look, as I wish to gauge my wife's reaction to her city residence.

She hands her wrap and bonnet to the butler in silence. I gesture for her to precede me and guide her along the ground floor hallway, past the silver filigree tray, already awash with calling cards, and the hot-house flower arrangement dwarfing the handsome hall table beneath. I show her the formal receiving room from the doorway to it and take her straight into the family parlour, which I know she will prefer. An old grandfather clock dominates the room, with its soft ticking and its imposing height. The comfortable furniture, upholstered in reds and greens, may remind her of Seat Manor. She turns to me with a smile. Her sunshine smile.

"It smells like home in here. How does your London home smell so similar to Forbrigg?" she asks, curiosity tilting her head to one side.

I do not answer. I am so fixed upon her calling Forbrigg home, I can only kiss her soft lips, tenderly and reverently – the way they were meant to be kissed.

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_4th__ June 1795_

Jasper decides not to accompany us to visit Em and Rose. He says the sisters' meeting will be emotional enough without him there to witness it. He is correct. The pair have been locked in an embrace, whispering together for the past quarter hour, and Em's aunt Jane does not know what to make of them. I have never liked Jane. She has such an air of haughtiness about her, quite unjustified as far as I am concerned.

"What on earth ails your poor wife, Lord Masen?" Her lips attempt to smile, but her condescension makes for a battle they do not quite win. I roll my eyes at my cousin before turning to her politely.

"Lady Masen is very well, thank you. She is merely expressing her love and delight at being reunited with her dear sister. Have you been well, Miss Cullen? What delights do you recommend this season?"

As anticipated, asking for her opinion is enough to distract Aunt Jane indefinitely. I listen with half an ear to her snobbery, but when she mentions the opera, I take my cue to interrupt.

"Yes, Covent Garden – excuse me, Miss Cullen – Bella, have you mentioned our outing this evening?" My wife turns to me with big, brown shining eyes. She positively radiates happiness.

She turns back to take her sister's hand. "We have a box at the theatre this evening. Please say you will accompany us, Rosalie." Rose turns to her husband, looking to him for guidance. Em already knows of our arrangement of course, but was concerned that his wife would not be well enough for the outing. I must say, she looks the picture of health to me.

I am amused at the silent communication between the spouses. My cousin raises a bushy eyebrow as if to say 'W_ell? Do you want to_?'. His wife answers in the affirmative with a tiny smile and wide eyes. Em tilts his head to the side and raises both eyebrows in the universal male gesture for encouragement; Rose widens her smile and softens her eyes in gratitude. She turns back to Bella and says, "That would be wonderful, Sister," and to me, "Thank you, Sir." I shake my head at the formal way she addresses me still.

"We will be very honoured by your company. Will you join us, Miss Cullen? We will be a small party; my brother accompanies us, but no one else."

"There will be plenty of others there to be seen by this evening. Thank you, Lord Masen, I accept."

There it is – our first outing planned. I find I can hardly wait to see the effect this evening's performance will have on my wife.

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Covent Garden is a strange mix of opulence and poverty. The grand theatre looks especially imposing while mere twists and turns away, the city's prostitutes and itinerants lay in wait for punters and fools.

Jacob is not able to draw as close to the entrance as I wish. Jasper exits the carriage first and gallantly lifts Isabella over the filth and mire that litters the cobbled street. I jump after them and am forced to call my instructions to my groom over quite a distance. He acknowledges me with a wave of his whip and pulls away.

"Look at all the fashionable people wading through the dirt!" Bella cannot hide her delight at the ridiculous spectacle. "Alice would love this. She would be noting all the intricate details of dress and manner and designing ten new gowns for me and ten for Rose by the time we reach the theatre."

Jasper agrees, throwing his head back in a hearty laugh. "Sister, take an arm in each hand, and Edward and I will see you through the dirt with no harm done to Alice's favourite evening gown." He nods to me as she places her small hands in the crook of my right and his left arm, and we lift her off the ground between us, eliciting a delighted giggle. We stride, and Bella floats through the warm evening air.

The crowd in front of us parts to allow passage to a lone gentleman walking against the flow. The three of us stop in our tracks, dumbfounded by the apparition of Mr William Black in our path.

He looks equally shocked to encounter us. His lips clearly mouth the word _Isabella_, but no sound emerges.

My brother recovers first. "Mr Black." He nods at the unwelcome man, but cannot raise his hat as we still hold Bella a foot from the ground – we require both hands to support her.

Black tips his hat. He continues to stare at my wife in shocked silence until a party, who have had to part to make their way around us, jostles him. Then he merely tips his hat again, mumbles "Good evening," and is off, walking away at a brisk pace without turning back.

"Oh!" Bella exclaims, the merest breath of a sound that I can barely distinguish above the cacophony surrounding us.

"Come on," says Jasper, lightening the load as is his wont. "Mr and Mrs Cullen will be wondering whether we have been accosted and robbed on our way here." We begin to walk again.

"Perhaps we have been," whispers Bella. I lean over to kiss her warm cheek in reassurance as we walk, breathing in her lovely perfume with gratitude.

I know without doubt that the best man won the fairest maiden.

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_8__th__ June 1795_

"Are you set on shopping this afternoon, Bella?"

"No, not at all. Did you change your mind about going to your club?" She sits at the dressing table regarding me through the looking glass while Alice fiddles with her hair, which is being particularly trying today. I recall how my fingers tangled within the thick locks not an hour ago – I suppose the responsibility for the difficulty is all mine. A very satisfying thought.

"I have to meet my lawyer, Sweetheart. I will not be detained long, but I must see him today. I don't like to leave you to wander the streets on your own. Perhaps you could wait for me here and send for your sister – I am certain Alice would like to see her again." The girl stills in her work, and her cheeks flush at my words. I smile at her, intending to be kind. She looks a little troubled.

"I'd like that, Edward, we both would, but Rose is detained with Em's Aunt Jane today. I am sorry Alice, but she will come another day." Rose has only managed to extricate herself once to see us in King's Square since we arrived. Alice broke down in tears when she saw her. Em, Jasper, and I took the opportunity to attend the Parliamentary session and left them together for the afternoon. I would very much like to know what they talked about while we were out – both Em and I were very distracted the following day. I could tell by his demeanour that he had experienced the same unexpectedly delightful evening with his wife as I had with mine.

Recalling the evening has distracted me again. What were we – oh yes, the arrangements for today.

"Bella will not be alone, Sir," says Alice, so quietly I almost do not hear her. "I will be with her, and Mr Masen has promised to escort us." Her informality at using my wife's pet name always catches me off guard, accompanied as it is by her almost overly respectful tone when she addresses me. Bella's maid is a mystery I have yet to unravel.

"Do you promise to be safe, Angel? You will not let Alice or Jasper out of your sight, even for a moment?"

Bella turns to face me, concern furrowing her forehead. "Do you not wish me to go, Edward? I will stay at home if it troubles you."

"No." I smile at her. "Excuse us for a moment please, Alice."

"Yes, Sir." She bobs a curtsey and leaves through the door to the small adjoining room. I stand up from the foot of the bed and move to kneel at Isabella's feet.

Taking her hands in mine, I ask her, "Have I told you today how much I love you?"

"I believe you showed me, my lord, if you did not actually say the words."

"Well, then, my lady: I love you more than life itself, and I wish for you to remain safe. I apologise if I appear overbearing at times." I lean forward to kiss her lips, and her sweet taste sends pleasure dancing down my spine all the way to my toes.

But I will be late for Jenks if I delay, and I do not know how much longer Black will remain in town, now that he knows we are here.

Regretfully, I pull away and stand. I do not know why I feel so uneasy about leaving today, so I quell the feeling with an order: "Keep safe, Isabella."

"Yes, my love."

"I will see you this evening." As I look back at her from the door to the bedroom she plants a kiss on her fingertips and makes a play of blowing it to me. I smile, reassured by her confidence and her affection.

Jacob has despatched Seth to enquire as to their orders for the day. The lad is so short – I wonder whether he will ever grow – I have to bend down low to engage his eyes. I place my hand on his shoulder so that he understands the seriousness of my request.

"Lady Masen will be taking the carriage into town today. She and Mr Masen will shop together. Seth, I am trusting you to ensure that she is safe. There are untrustworthy parties in town; do we understand each other?"

"Yes, my Lord." The boy's voice is unexpectedly low and soft – I imagine he would make a great singer.

"Good lad." I pat him on the shoulder like a colleague, and he takes his faithful young self smartly back out of the door.

Samuels waits for me by the front door, coat and hat in hand. "Good day, My Lord."

"Thank you, Samuels. Good day to you." I hope it is a good day. The air is cool today, at least.

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I have begun to tire of White's. As gentlemen's clubs go, it is the finest, but the opulence, masculinity, and sheer snobbery of the place no longer holds me in its thrall. I have heard much lately of the Royal Society, a gathering place for scientists and engineers, knowledgeable men who share the same passions as I hold dear.

Still, White's is without comparison _the_ venue for a discreet conversation.

Jenks has been waiting for me.

"I have some of the information you require, my Lord."

"Good man. Don't make me wait for it, Jenks. Give it to me straight."

He passes me an address. "What's this?" Jenks has been the family lawyer for many years. He watched me grow and take on more and more of my father's business; and when Father passed away, he was at my right hand offering comfort and guidance. I trust him implicitly. He shakes his grey head sadly at me.

"We had him followed, Sir, as per your request. This is the residence he has been visiting, without fail, for several hours of every day, each time he comes to London."

"I see. And who does Mr Black visit at this address?"

"The house is a well-established one of ill-repute, my lord."

"He comes to London to fuck prostitutes?"

"It appears so. Although his tastes are very singular." The look of distaste on Jenks' features sickens me even before he enlightens me.

"Go on then, tell me – what are his _tastes_?"

"I believe that the girls Mr Black is interested in – yes Sir, they are girls – well, they seem very young. To me, Sir, to me."

Oh, heavens above, do I need to know this? "How young?" Jenks rubs a hand over his mottled forehead.

"Young enough to cause difficulties for him should word get out, Sir. His Bishop, for one, will not be pleased."

Oh God. All right. Clearly the man has to be stopped.

He used his filthy hands to strike _my wife_.

"What are our options, Jenks?"

"We still await a report from the man we sent to his place of birth, sir. There may yet be something to discover there – clearly something underhand occurred when Swan's sister died. We know that Black disappeared for a while, and Swan somehow ended up with a Baron's daughter in his bed."

"Right, so we continue that line of enquiry. What about the maid, Alice? Have you looked into her background? She must be tied up in all this somehow." I saw with my own eyes how servants were treated in the Swan residence. There is something about the girl, and her relationship with Bella and Rose, that does not ring true to her standing. Alice is – different. Jenks and I have discussed this briefly once before.

"Yes, I take your point. Could we talk to her, Sir?" I bend forward in my chair, elbows on my thighs and hands gripping my hair as I think.

"No, don't speak to her. I do not wish to disturb my wife any further. Find out about this convent she was raised in – someone there will give us her story."

"As you wish, Sir. In the meantime, there is little we can do in law, although it would be a simple matter to engineer a crime Black could be found guilty of. It is not as though he is innocent, my Lord."

"True; he is no puritan. Hah! What else have we got?"

"It boils down to exposure; framing him; or a less than accidental incident – perhaps, if we are lucky, his death Sir?"

Murder. Jenks is suggesting we have Black killed.

Would that not make me as bad as him? Or worse? No – tempting as it is to kill him myself - and there is no question that I would beat him in a duel, no matter his choice of weapon – I will not jeopardise Bella's happiness that way.

Murder is out.

This may be a long afternoon. I call for a carafe of French brandy and cigars.

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Two hours later, Jenks and I are no closer to an agreement as to how to take down Black. True, we have discussed and resolved other business during this time; but a piece of the Black/Swan puzzle is missing. Until we find it, I am reluctant to show my hand.

We are interrupted, despite my order to the contrary, by an anxious butler.

"Milord, I apologise for intruding, but your groom is here. He is most insistent that I relay a message to you."

And this is when I know true fear for the first time.

For all my wealth, I have never had so much to lose. Never.

I am up and out of my seat before the word groom has passed the message-bearer's lips. "Where is he? Bring him to me immediately." But I am already halfway down the stairs and out of the building before he can reply. Jacob stands awkwardly at the grand entrance, wringing his hat in his hands.

"Where is she?" I snap, striding past the ridiculous marble busts that litter the foyer.

"Hunter-Buttsgrove has her, my lord." I stand stock still, in shock at this news. It is worse than I thought – worse than Black. In his own dark and twisted way, Black cares for Isabella. James does not.

I recall the look of challenge on Buttsgrove's face in the midst of his humiliation. James desires one thing – revenge.

"Take me straight there." We reach the carriage where Seth holds the lead rein. I grab him by the scruff and haul him into the carriage with me. I seat him opposite me and hold his chin in my fingers so that he is forced to maintain eye contact. "Speak! How did this happen."

"I followed her, Sir. I did not let her out of my sight, Sir, not once."

"Good lad. Yet still, she is in danger. How did this happen? Where is Mr Masen?" The boy quakes under my firm hold, so I force myself to gentle my fingers and my tone.

"They were separated in the crowds, Sir. Mr Masen and Miss Alice went one way, and Lady Masen another. I stayed with her – she never saw me, but I stayed, Sir. Even when she got in the wrong carriage, I stayed with her. I ran all the way behind them. I saw them took...they took her in the house, and I ran straight back to find my master." He squirms uncomfortably on his seat and drops his voice even lower. "Lady Masen did not mind climbing into the carriage after the other lady, my lord; but when she got out at the big house, she looked sceered. I remembered what you said, Sir. I don't want her to get hurt. Please help her, Sir."

The carriage lurches to the side, and Seth falls over on the seat. Jacob must be driving like a mad man. My heart pounds in rhythm with the wheels as we are hurtled along the busy roads.

"You did a good job, Seth. You did the right thing, coming straight back to find me. We _will_ find her and bring her home safely." The boy bounces in his seat, a combination of nervous energy and carriage jolts making his slight frame dance about like St Vitus. I pull him over to my side and place my arm around him to steady him. His teeth are chattering. Holding him there comforts me slightly. My teeth want to chatter too. "We _will_ bring her safely home, Seth."

The carriage draws to a halt. I have the door open and my feet on the ground before the horses have properly stilled. We are at the Buttsgrove's London residence, the imposing front door facing us balefully.

"Seth, hold the horses. Jacob, come with me." My loyal groom reaches my side, and we bound up the steps to the door together.

Before I ring and pound on the door for entrance, I turn to face him. "Stay by my side, Jacob, no matter what. Do you trust me?"

His answer is immediate. "Yes, Sir."

"I may have to ask you to fight. A physical fight, do you understand?"

He nods. "Yes, my lord."

"I will give you a signal – like this." I show him my clenched fist adjacent to my heart. "When – if I do, it is the signal to attack. No matter what, you wait for my signal. Agreed?"

"Aye, Sir."

Good. I raise my fist and begin to pound on Hunter-Buttsgrove's front door, my heart in my mouth and my soul somewhere within.

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**Everyone still here? You like cliffhangers, don't you?**

**Cared and Perry are the most accommodating and encouraging pre-reader and beta in the whole entire world. Thank you.**

**Thank _you_, readers, for being wonderful. How are you? How is the start of 2012 going for you? Next update in a fortnight. Sorry.**

**(Babette, the part about the calling cards was for you. Thank you!)**


	13. Chapter 12 And To Obey

_**I wonder what Stephenie Meyer, creator of these characters, would think of their behaviour in this chapter?**_

_**My chapter titles are taken from the wedding vows in The Book Of Common Prayer. It has become fashionable in certain circles to reinstate the woman's promise to obey her husband. I find this deeply disturbing. Of course, it was the norm in 1795. A norm is a behaviour that is so endemic to a culture it is unquestioned. If it **_**was****_ questioned, it would be thought of as 'natural' (as opposed to nurtured). Many of us are lucky enough to live in a culture where physically disciplining a wife is frowned upon in theory, if not consistently in practice; but there are still plenty of environments in the world where violence against women is the unquestioned norm, as it was in England in 1795. To be plain: corporal punishment of a wife was as normal in this time as corporal punishment of a child was in your grandparents' day. _**

_**So this chapter is dedicated to the heroes of any culture who question the norms. It honours the suffragettes; the feminists; the early socialists; the abolitionists; the prophets and philosophers and ordinary people throughout time who have recognised a wrong, despite its common acceptance, and stood against the tide. We owe them a great debt, and can repay them by continuing to question our 'norms'.**_

_**Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen...**_

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**Chapter****12**** – ****And****To****Obey**

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"_**The beauty of the soul shines out when a man bears with composure one heavy mischance after another, not because he does not feel them, but because he is a man of high and heroic temper"**_

_**(Aristotle, 384 BC-322 BC)**_

The polished, black front door of the Buttsgroves' London residence opens a tiny crack, and with one mind, Jacob and I press our shoulders to the heavy wood. The servant behind it is startled by our aggression. He trips backwards over his own feet, landing awkwardly against the deep red floral paper of the dim entrance hall.

I do not linger to ask questions I know will not be answered, but listen carefully at the foot of the staircase. Over the spluttering demands of the servant, I hear muffled voices from the floor above. Jacob is right on my heels. We leap up the stairs, and when we reach the bend, I almost knock my groom backwards for overtaking me. Neither of us is mindful of our manners right now.

My shoes and Jacob's boots echo loudly on the wooden stairs. When we reach the top, he falters, turning to me for guidance. I pull his arm in the direction of the salon, and we burst through the double doors to a scene that nearly destroys me.

Isabella sits upon an upright chair, her arms pulled tightly behind her. James holds one filthy hand over her mouth – to prevent her scream, I am sure – and another pulls her head back by her hair, which has escaped its pins. Her brow is pulled tight, but still, she looks at me – beseeches me; she is so frightened and pale. My heart lurches, and a roar escapes my mouth from deep, deep inside me.

I did not know that the expression 'seeing red' was based in truth. Blood fills my vision, and a red haze of fury compels me forward. I do not really know what I am doing.

Victoria stands to the side. I pay her no mind; all of my attention is riveted on the maggot who is hurting my wife; and yet some part of me acknowledges the expression on her face, and she is almost as frightened as my Bella.

I do not give any signal; my wrath is too encompassing for thoughtful action. Yet Jacob and I reach James and Bella together, and as I drop to my knees in front of her, I see Jacob push the knife he has pulled from his boot to the vulnerable skin at the bastard's neck. I prise his vile hand from Bella's mouth so fast and hard, I am certain I hear a bone in his thumb crack. Jacob has his free hand in James' ridiculous queue, yanking his head as far back as it will go. He cries out, cursing us as he releases my angel from his wretched grasp.

Mere seconds have passed since we burst into the room, and yet I see everything, hear everything, as though time has slowed endlessly for me.

My hands are all over Bella, trying to soothe her, to remove all traces of the fiend's touch, to feel for injury. Her eyes lock with mine as a sob escapes her. "Edward!" My name is barely discernible through her tears.

Her arms remain taut behind her. Still on my knees, I twist around to see what restrains her. She is bound fast by ribbon, the knots too tight to undo where she has pulled against them. "A knife, Victoria, get me a knife!" I shout, and I do not know why I believe she will aid us, but I do. She passes me a pair of scissors with trembling hands. I seize them and snip through the silk, nicking the skin on Bella's wrist as I do so, but she is free. I pull her into the safety of my body, and she clings to me, hiccupping with misery and relief. We rock in one another's arms on the floor of the grand salon as I whisper to her: "I have you; I have you; ssshh, I have you."

I do not know how long we sit thus, but as Bella's sobs begin to slow and Victoria wrings her hands in constant agitation, James' choking protests increase in volume. Eventually, Jacob knees him in the groin. James collapses backwards – which is lucky for him, as he would have impaled his throat upon the knife still pressed to it otherwise. Jacob kicks him in the kidney when he is down, for good measure, before turning to me and placing his hand on my shoulder. "M'lord, we must go. Seth cannot manage the horse team for much longer."

I nod. "Bella, Sweetheart, I am going to stand and lift you now. Hold me tight." She has not relaxed her grasp at all, but now she claws my shirt and waistcoat with her hands. I must have left my coat at White's; it is the first time I am aware of its absence. I lift her easily as I stand and turn to face James, curled and retching on the floor. "I will be back to deal with you as soon as my precious wife is safe." I almost spit the words at him. I wheel back to Victoria, uncertain which words to lash her with; but she appears so stricken, I cannot find any at all. With Bella's head buried in my chest, we exit the room and retrace our steps through the house.

The manservant must have been eavesdropping, and no wonder with goings on such as these. He seems to be sneeringly amused by our plight. If Jacob did not abuse him with a swift kick to the shin as we passed, I would have.

My faithful and furious groom tugs open the front door fiercely, and I almost leap the five steps with my wife in my arms. Seth does not appear to have had any difficulty with the horses at all. He opens the door to the carriage, worry creasing his little-boy features into a foreshadow of his adult face. "She is well, Seth. Climb up with Jacob; he will fill you in." We set off almost before we are settled, careening once again through the rancid streets.

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Bella has almost cried herself out by the time we reach home. Small gasps wrack her chest every few minutes. She is still deathly pale as I carry her inside and up to our room. I lay her gently on the bed and ring for a maid, quickly returning to stroke her hair away from her damp face. She shivers, so I turn down the blankets and shift her between them.

A servant comes quickly. "Where is Alice?" I demand, my tone harsher than I intended.

"She has not yet returned, Sir." The girl curtsies and turns to Bella, concern in her eyes. "Will I bring some tea, Sir?"

"Yes, tea, or whatever Cook has that is soothing. And brandy. And hot water and towels, as quick as you can."

"Yes, my lord." She curtsies again and whirls around, her apron and petticoats billowing as she almost runs from the room.

Bella's clothing appears untouched, thank God, but she requires comfort, not frilly fashion. "Let me help you disrobe, my sweet, sweet girl," I murmur, reaching for her. She sits up and clings to me once again; I can feel the shudders as they rent through her small body. "Hush, Angel, I have you now; you are safe. Hush, Sweetheart."

She begins to relax a little, and I pull away to find the fastenings of her apron-style dress. It is a pretty colour, and the material is soft and elegantly embroidered, but I swear to myself I will burn it as soon as she is free. I can never see her wearing it again.

Eventually, she is unwrapped, and the stays on her corset are loosened. I search the room with my eyes, but I cannot see her dressing gown – Alice is far too tidy. Bella is so cold, her lips and fingertips are almost blue. I gently kiss both to warm her.

Carrie is back with tea and brandy and a hot brick wrapped in cotton to warm her lady's feet. The maid fusses around while I stoke up the fire and find one of my own shirts to warm her with.

"Here, my love, slip this over your head." Her lip trembles, but she does as I say. I pour brandy into her tea, and she takes the cup from me, her hand rattling the fine china on its saucer so violently, I take it away from her and hold it to her lips myself. She drinks, and I relax slightly. No harm will come to her now.

"Bella, " I stroke her tear-stained cheek with my thumb; I do and I do not want her to answer my question. "I have to know, Angel: did he hurt you? Please tell me the truth."

"No," she whispers, "no more than you saw. He frightened me terribly, but he did me no real harm."

"And Victoria?"

"Yes, he hurt Vicky. She wanted to let me go." I close my eyes in pain at this thought. Bella grips my hand almost painfully tight.

"I meant, did Victoria hurt you?"

"No, Edward. No, she did not hurt me."

"I have to go back, Bella. You understand?"

"Please do not leave me! Not yet." I study her drawn face, dark rings of exhaustion lining her pleading eyes. Some warmth has returned to her chapped lips, at least. I bend to kiss them, softly and gratefully. Now that she is safe, I must keep her so. I will never allow her to face such peril again.

"You need to rest, my love. I will stay with you until you fall asleep, but I must return to deal with James. Listen, Sweetheart," she shakes her head, anxiety returning to her expression and draining her face of all colour again. "I cannot leave things the way they are. I have to have it out with James; there is a history between us that I have ignored for too long. And whatever evil she has done, Victoria appeared as frightened of her husband as you were. I must ensure her safety. Do you understand?" I stroke her face as I speak, and feel under my fingertips the barely discernible nod she gives. I take this to be her permission.

"I think it would be best for you to return to Forbrigg in the morning. There is some business that I must attend to here, but I will follow behind in a few days. I will send Samuels with you, and Alice of course." She winces, as though in pain. It strikes me as odd that she has not asked for her own maid. "Bella, where is Alice?"

"I do not know where she is right now, but she is with your brother," she whispers and turns her head into the pillow, quiet sobs beginning anew.

"Hush, my darling; hush now. No more tears; you will make yourself ill. We will talk later. Settle yourself down. You need to sleep." She turns towards me but does not look at me; instead, she presses her face into my chest and mumbles to me. I think she is saying she is sorry, but that is absurd. It is my own folly that has endangered her.

"Hush, my love. Shall I sing to you?" She stills but does not reply. I decide to sing anyway, a lullaby I recall from my childhood; though I do not recall who sang it. As my voice soothes her, I feel her taut body relax. Her breathing evens, and the hands that were tightly clasped into fists fall open. The ring I placed upon her finger gleams in warm contrast to her pale skin. This precious woman I have vowed to worship, upon whom I endowed everything I have, including my soul. What would I have done if I had lost her? What if she was hurt, and I did not protect her? I cannot bear to dwell on it. I have to keep her safe, and London is not a safe place to be until James Hunter-Buttsgrove and William Black have been taken care of.

I slide quietly away from her sleeping body and retreat from the room. I ring for Samuels from the parlour and ask him to fetch Jacob for me and another coat.

Jacob stands awkwardly in front of me, shuffling his heavy boots across the thick carpet. I imagine he wants to enquire about Isabella's health but does not feel it is his place.

"She is resting, Jacob. I wanted to thank you. Your quick thinking and your bravery meant we reached her in time. What you did was above and beyond the call of duty, and I will forever be in your debt." He mumbles his reply – Jacob is a quiet man of few words. He is probably embarrassed by my gratitude, so I will reward him in some way without acknowledging it. Perhaps a race horse to train from Newmarket – I know he indulges in the odd bet or two.

"Samuels, Jacob, I wish you to take Lady Masen home tomorrow, as early as possible. I have to remain here to conclude some business, so I will return to Forbrigg by Post as soon as I may. Be sure to stick to the safest routes, and Samuels, ensure you attend to her every need. I want you riding alongside at all times, do not stray ahead."

"Of course, Sir."

"Seth and Alice may travel inside the carriage with her – Seth deserves to enjoy a hero's status, does he not?"

"Aye, M'Lord, he does," says Jacob, smiling with one side of his face in spite of himself. I can see how deeply the boy has touched the dour man's heart, for all his initial reticence towards his young apprentice.

"I must ask you both to prepare for the journey now. I have to return to the Buttsgrove residence."

"Let me take you, Sir."

"No, Jacob, I'll take a Hackney carriage. I want you to remain here and focus on your preparations."

"As you wish, My Lord." He clearly does not agree with my intentions, but Jacob would _never_ question me.

"And Samuels, when my brother returns, tell him to wait for me. He and I need to have words."

Indeed we do.

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Two, perhaps three hours have passed since we fled the Hunter-Buttsgroves' house. When I return and find the front door ajar, dread lodges in the tail end of my spine.

I push the door open and listen, but the house is silent. Reaching back through the open door, I try ringing the bell. The only response I obtain is a faint dog bark, possibly coming from the rear of the house.

Shrugging off my unease, I make my way back up the stairs to the salon. I begin to hear a faint keening sound, which chills my skin. I want to call out to alert them of my presence, but then again, I do not.

When I reach the salon doors, an unpleasant odour greets me. The doors are pulled close together, not quite completely shut. I have never wanted to pass through an entranceway less in my life. I know that whatever I find in there is serious enough to have driven the servants to take flight.

Gathering my courage with my breath, I push open the door and look in. My eyes are immediately drawn to Victoria huddled on the floor. She rocks herself slowly backwards and forwards, her constant keening cry echoing incongruently around the richly decorated room. The chair Bella was tethered to remains where it was, the scraps of yellow ribbon that tied her clashing with the rich reds and blues of the Persian carpet beneath.

At first my eyes refuse to acknowledge the pathetic heap behind Vicky as a man; but as I close the gap, I can no longer deny that James lies where we left him, on the floor to the side of his captive's chair. Only now, his white shirt is stained dark red, and a soaked patch of congealed blood surrounds him. The long scissors I had used to release my wife protrude from his back, almost comical in their deadly but jaunty angle.

Did Victoria do this? Why? Bitter bile rises in my throat.

"Oh no. No, no, no, Victoria, what have you done?" I kneel beside her and lift her head so that I can see into her eyes. She passively allows my touch, but her eyes remain unfocussed. "Vicky! Vicky, look at me! What happened? You need to tell me what happened. Do you understand what they'll do to you? Victoria!" My final shout and shake rouses her attention, and she looks defiant, fleetingly. Then doubt returns to cloud her features.

"He went too far, Edward. I had to do it. I had to. Do you not see? It was enough. You came too quickly, and he blamed me. He was hurting and so, so angry. He would have killed me first. I knew. I knew I had to do it while he was down, or I would not have had the strength. It is over now. He is over. Come what may." She grips my arms with her long, thin fingers, her fingernails digging into my flesh even through my clothing.

"Come what may? Victoria, do you have any idea what will happen to you now? Any idea at all?"

She drops her arms and shrugs.

"I do not care. My life is over, anyway. I will meet my husband in Hell, Edward. Life, death, it is all the same to me."

"No, Vicky. Please, do not speak so. Why did you not come to me? I had no idea – why? I truly cannot comprehend..."

"Come to you, Edward? Come to _you_?" Her laugh sounds unhinged; it spills from a very dark place inside of her. "I could not have sealed my fate any faster than if I turned to you. You hate me, Edward, more even than James. I feared _you_ more than I feared my stupid, stupid husband." Suddenly she lurches to the side and vomits on the floor. The stench of her bile enhances the sickly sweet odour of the congealed blood and other noxious vapours that swirl around the room.

I am at a loss as to what to do. I cannot leave her here, but I cannot take her with me. I wish to offer her some sort of comfort, but I can barely bring myself to touch her. How has it come to this? I am bewildered by the turn of events. Never before have I been so completely without reference.

Victoria curls herself into a tight ball on the carpet. "Let me find you something to drink."

She does not respond.

I stand anyway. A cursory glance around the salon reveals no store of liquor. I make my way downstairs to the more private rooms on the floor below. Several decanters are placed on a silver tray in the smaller, family dining room. Sniffing each, I choose brandy and pour a good measure into a crystal tumbler. I hesitate, then help myself to a large whiskey, tossing it back quickly in the hope it will settle my nerves as well as my stomach. As I leave the room to take the brandy to Victoria, I hear a noise at the door.

Four men let themselves inside. The first, a stocky fellow in sombre clothing, tight around his burly arms, assesses me carefully before tilting his head to one side and removing his hat. "Is this the Buttsgroves' residence?"

"It is." I nod. "And who are you?"

"Osborne, Sir, of the Bow Street Magistrate's court. We've come to sort out some unpleasant business. If you don't mind me asking, Sir, who are you?"

Damn. At least one of the servants must have alerted the law. My lips are very dry. I lick them apart, but my voice still cracks slightly when I respond. "Lord Masen of Forbrigg, in Norfolk." I cough slightly to clear my throat before speaking again. "I came to settle some business with Lord Hunter-Buttsgrove, but it seems I was too late."

"Aye, Sir, so I've heard. Is the Lady still here?"

"Yes. Listen – what did you say your name was?"

"Osborne, Sir."

"Listen, Osborne, she – the Lady in question – she does not deserve this. What do I have to do to ensure she is treated well?"

"Friend of yours, is she?" He leers at me, and the men shuffling around behind him exchange sly grins and hard laughs.

"No. No, sir, she is _no_ friend of mine, but even so – I do not wish to see her suffer more than absolutely necessary." Victoria can have no inkling of the abhorrent hell she will endure before she is hanged.

Osborne nods, softening slightly. "Then tell her to dress up warm and shove some jewellery in her petticoats. She will need all the money she can get. And a little compensation goes a long way, Lord Masen." He emphasises the Lord slightly. My wealth is well known in London. I left my purse in my other coat, which remains at Whites, but I had the foresight to take some coins with me. I empty my pockets and hand what I have to the Magistrate's runner.

"Distribute what I have amongst you. There will be more, so long as I find her treatment satisfactory. You can be assured I _will_ know." The men accept my bribe with good humour. Osborne gestures for me to precede him.

I really do not want to, but I steel myself to return to Victoria and the pathetic dead bastard. I find it incredible that not one member of staff has remained to assist her, but you reap what you sow, and this pair has sown barren, bitter seed.

Vicky lies where I left her. I shake her shoulder gently. She sits and blinks hazily, as though she has been sleeping. I hand her the brandy, and she nods gratefully, sipping at the deep amber liquid. "Vicky, some men have come for you. They are going to take you -" I turn and look at Osborne, who is hovering in the doorway.

"Coldbath Fields, Sir."

I swallow. "They have come to take you to a prison, Vicky. You need to wear as many clothes as you can, and you need to take valuables that you can hide upon your person. You will have to barter for what you need, so take as many small things as you can find. And wear stout boots because they will make you work."

She listens to me as though I am the one who is not of sound mind.

I begin to feel very tired, and I really cannot take the smell in this room any longer. "Come, get up. Now." I pull both hands up until she is forced to rise and march her out of the door. "Where is your dressing room?" I cast one last glance at the heap that was once James, a friend for many years, and an enemy for a paltry few. All that life, his strange humour, his lust for adventure – it all ends in this, a bloody mess and a lost and ruined wife.

What a terrible waste.

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When I finally return home, it is past 9 o'clock. There is still no sign of Jasper and Alice. My stomach, already queasy, twists with anxiety at this news.

Bella is awake. She is packing her own trunk with the help of the kitchen girl when I find her. Neither have any experience, and the mess in the room tells this story plainly. I send the girl away.

"Are you all right, Edward? You do not look well. What happened? Are you hurt?" She examines my face closely, trailing her fingers over my features. I clasp her hand and press her fingers to my lips.

"James is dead, Bella."

She gasps, dread washing over her lovely face. "Did you duel?" she whispers.

A humourless laugh escapes me. "No, nothing like that. Victoria killed him. He was dead when I arrived – long dead, from what I could tell. She must have stabbed him as soon as we left." I sit down heavily on the bed, the weight of the afternoon and evening suddenly too much to bear. It is Isabella's turn to kneel at my feet.

"Why?" She looks stricken. She rubs her hands on my thighs nervously, but it soothes me nonetheless.

"I do not know. I do not really understand any of this. Bella," I bend to kiss my sweet wife on her forehead, so thankful for the opportunity to perform such a simple act of love. "What happened? How did you become separated from Jasper? He has not returned, I..." Bella has dropped her head into her hands, hiding her face from me. Suddenly, I am gripped with anger. I am so tired, beyond tired, and there are things about this day I do not understand. "Bella, do you know where they are?" She looks up at me and nods.

It is the way she raises and separates herself from me that alerts me to her guilt.

"Bella, if you have something to tell me, you must tell me now, for I truly cannot take much more this evening." My tone is sharp, my voice hard – I want to play the role of loving husband, but that Edward Masen is hard to find this evening. He is taking respite from the evils he has witnessed. Commanding, angry Lord Masen remains. Fool that he is.

Bella stands in the centre of the room, head bowed, hands clasped together. I imagine she has stood this way in front of her father many times, perhaps Black, too. The thought makes me more angry, and yet, I cannot release her from her penury. I have to know what she has kept from me. "So help me, Bella, if you do not speak, I do not know what I will do."

She raises her head and looks me in the eye. She is calmer now. My wife knows this dance well; I can see it. Appease the angry man before you, or he will strike. I shudder at this insight. Very well, I will play the game if I have to. I will dance this dance, if that is what it takes. I meet her gaze unflinchingly.

She draws a deep breath. "It is not my story to tell, and I promised I would not, but my promise to you was before God and witnesses, and besides, it means more. You mean more." She says this last part so softly, so sweetly, I know it is not part of any game. "Edward – oh, this is hard to tell you; I did not want to be the one – you see, Alice and Jasper are in love."

I am blank. They are – what? "What?" I still sound angry.

"They are in love, and they do not know what to do about it. This afternoon, they asked me to go shopping with them and pretend to get lost, so that I could return home alone and they could spend the afternoon and evening together without suspicion. Jasper knew a place... well, it did not quite go as planned. We were separated in the crowds, but Victoria found me first. She offered to return me to our carriage – she said hers was nearby; it would be no bother. She was so friendly, I did not for one moment believe there was any danger. Jasper saw me leave with her; he nodded to me over the heads of all the people – there were so many people, Edward, I truly hated shopping. But Jasper saw me with Victoria, and he smiled; he was pleased. So I left with her; I got into her carriage, and she changed immediately; she asked me strange questions and put me on edge, and then we arrived at her house, and I was so frightened... I am sorry, Edward. I am so sorry."

I find this all very hard to take. I feel wounded. I almost believe the scissors that Victoria stabbed her husband with could not have hurt much more than this. To be betrayed so callously by my own brother, and my wife colluded in it? It cannot be true. A distancing sensation overcomes me – I feel both small and far too large; near and yet far away from the drama I am experiencing. Bella does not break my silence. My heart, yes, but my silence remains whole.

Eventually, my mouth opens, and angry Masen speaks. "You lied to me, Isabella? You coldly and deliberately deceived me?"

She shakes her head no, but all she can say is, "I am so sorry, Edward. So very sorry."

"Do you understand how angry I am right now?"

"Yes, Sir. Please, Edward, punish me. I know I was wrong. I deserve your anger. Please, Edward." She whispers the last.

So this is how the dance ensues. And if truth be told, never in my life have I wanted to punish someone as badly as I do my wife. My eyes even search the room for some item to strike her with. My hands itch and shake with the urge to beat the woman who has hurt me so painfully. After the shock of the day, I barely have a hold over myself. My friend and enemy is dead, his body a crumpled heap of cold flesh and bone; his wife is in prison, which she will be lucky to survive until she is hanged; my brother fancies himself in love with a maid, has hidden this love from me, and left my wife in deepest peril. And I – it is _my_ fault that Bella was taken; it was revenge against _me_ that triggered this goddamn mess in the first place, and for what? Pride? Lust?

My wife stands before me in her petticoats, begging me to punish her for the wrongs of others, myself included. I am so frightened I will give in to the urge to strike her, I know there is only one thing I can do. I stand and walk quickly to the door. I do not look back as I leave, but as soon as the door is closed fast behind me, I lean against it, listening for the kind of sobs I endured earlier. There is nothing – only silence. I stay there for minutes, long minutes, while I regulate my breathing.

I am _disgusted_ by my own cowardice. I have to lock my shaking knees or they will collapse beneath me. What kind of a man am I?

Eventually, I hear a door opening and voices below.

My brother has returned.

I tread quietly down the staircase, and as I near the bottom, I am afforded a view of a carefree Jasper, arms entwined with an adoring girl – a girl who looks up to him with so much trust and expectation – what is he doing to her? He will break her delicate heart into a thousand pieces if he does not fulfil his promise. What is he thinking? What have I taught my little brother that he believes it safe to dally with a maiden's heart? How _dare_ he?

Fury propels me the rest of the way down the stairs, and the guilty pair hear me coming. Alice looks stricken, but it is my brother I focus on. He pushes Alice away a little and squares up to me. At least he will take it like a man. Without pause, when I reach him I draw back my fist and punch him in the face, hard enough to make him reel but sufficiently restrained to ensure no permanent damage. I drop my fist to his solar plexus and give another sharp jab.

Jasper doubles over, and Alice screams. I push them both out of my way and head for the front door. I will spend the night drinking hard liquor at White's.

My treacherous family can look after themselves for once.

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_**A good novel tells us the truth about its hero...  
>Gilbert K. Chesterton<strong>_

_**Was that too much truth? If you ask me questions, I will answer – as long as they don't give the plot away.**_

_**Pre-readers Cared and My Man (MM) give me strength and confidence; beta Perry gently teaches me what I feel I ought to know, but somehow do not.**_

_**More drama in a fortnight. I'm sorry.**_

_**I am Gingerandgreen on Twitter too. Talk to me.**_


	14. Chapter 13 For Richer For Poorer

_**All things Twilight belong to the sweet imagination of Stephenie Meyer. Thank you for letting us play with them, Ms Meyer.**_

_**This chapter has been skilfully pre-read by Lovely Cared and MM, the 'Edward' of my life. However, it has not been betad – beta-ed – betaed? Edited. Sweet Perry has not been well, and I hope she is resting. Please join me in wishing and praying for her speedy return to health. Apologies for the mistakes.**_

_**I am dedicating this chapter to the victims of substance abuse. Whether these be the individuals who have turned to a chemical when a human support system has failed them; or a beloved individual who has suffered due to the change a drug wrests from the psyche; or a victim of crime committed while under the base influence of an alien substance – this chapter mourns their loss.**_

_**Gentle readers, thank you for trusting me. This is not a story about the breakdown of a marriage; rather, the construction of one...**_

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**Chapter 13 – For Richer, For Poorer**

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_8__th__ June 1795_

Mr Jenks,

A situation has arisen that will take some careful handling. My wife and I suffered the misfortune of being in Lord Hunter-Buttsgrove's company minutes before he was murdered by his wife. This visit was witnessed by at least one servant of the household.

In addition, on my return to settle matters with the gentleman, I found myself in the unfortunate position of preparing Lady Hunter-Buttsgrove for prison. The Bow Street runners have my name. The lead fellow, Osborne, has undertaken to ensure her safety. I trust you to provide the necessary incentives to maintain his interest.

As I see it, several matters need to be addressed with urgency:

~ Keep our involvement out of the papers. Find the servants, pay them off, or procure employment they cannot refuse. Get them on a ship to Australia if you have to. Osborne and his crew may require more subtle persuasion – I leave this to your expertise.

~ Lady Hunter-Buttsgrove's survival is a lost cause. She was ill-treated by her husband, but having stabbed the man in the back, she has no defence. When this gets out, an imminent occurrence I am sure, she will feel the public's wrath. Do whatever it takes to alleviate her suffering. If I thought I could pay the Magistrate to commute her sentence to transport for life, I would do so without question; but I fear the scandal will be too great for any judge to risk it. Do what you can - there are kinder roads to Hell than the one she is currently destined to travel.

~ Despite our best efforts, I may be called upon as a witness at the trial. We will need to discuss my approach, but I do not intend to remain in London beyond the week. I am forewarning you of the possibility of a trip to Forbrigg in the near future. We may deal with that other matter simultaneously.

~ Find out what they have done with the remains. I will write to Lady Hunter forthwith and offer your services.

My apologies for abandoning you earlier, Jenks. This has been a bloody awful day, but I thank God in Heaven my beloved wife is safe. It was a close call.

Yours, etc.

Lord Edward Masen

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8th June 1795

My Dear Henrietta,

It is my desolate duty to write to you with distressing news. I only hope the tale reaches you first through my pen, and not the newspapers'.

As no sweet manner of address will soften this blow, I will be blunt. I know you well enough to be assured of your approval.

This afternoon I narrowly avoided witnessing Victoria lethally stabbing your nephew. I cannot tell you the reason for the murder. I only know with certainty that James is dead at his wife's hand; that his death was swift; and that Vicky is highly distressed, and in the hands of the Magistrate. She was taken to Coldbath Fields immediately. The house was deserted of servants when I saw her off.

It grieves me dreadfully to be the bearer of this horrifying news. Please accept my condolences. My lawyer, Mr Jenks, who I believe you have met on occasion, has been instructed to assist you with anything you may require. Circumstances force me to return to Norfolk before the week is out, but if there is anything I can do, please let me know.

I remain your humble servant,

Edward Masen, Lord of Forbrigg

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I throw my quill onto the writing table and ring for a man to deliver my correspondence. I pay to have the household members awoken if necessary. Thank God I will not be present to witness the letters' reception.

I run both hands through my hair, which feels filthy from sweat and heavens knows what else. Several times I have imagined the smell from the salon has clung to my clothing or skin, but when I sniff myself I cannot trace the scent at all. I need to go home and bathe.

I reach for my glass to drain it, but find it already empty. I shrug and refill it. There is no urgency to return. What is at home for me after all, but a deceitful family colluding to treat me like the blind fool I clearly am?

At least Bella will not have to leave London with the same urgency as before. There will be time to address our differences when we have both regained our sanity.

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"Edward. Ed! Wake up."

"What?" I force my gritty eyes apart to encounter Em looming over me like a goose over its gosling. A servant opens the heavy drapes behind him. The sudden light pierces my head with what feels like malice.

I sit up in my chair, rubbing my face to remove the vestiges of sleep. "What time is it, Em?"

"You stink, Cousin. How much did you drink? It is almost noon."

"Noon?" I groan. I need to wash up and get home. Who knows what they have been up to in my absence?

Oh Lord, poor Bella, I have deserted her all night through. I wince with shame at the thought of how I left her yesterday. She must have been devastated. I hold my aching head in my hands.

The thought strikes me that my neglect may have worse consequences: after her fear and shock, I have left her utterly alone, quite without comfort. Did she know she was safe?

"I have something to show you." Em holds a crisply folded newspaper out to me, the front-page headline taking up the full sheet in heavy, black letters. My hand shakes a little when I reach out to take it from him. It is a special edition, printed quickly for the hungry gossipers.

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_Wicked Wife Stabs Lord Through Heart_

_Yesterday, in a most heinous act of hatred, the life of Lord James Hunter-Buttsgrove was prematurely ended with a vicious and treacherous stab to the back._

_His wife wielded the long-handled scissors that pierced the handsome young lord through his heart and lung. Lady Victoria Hunter-Buttsgrove was caught with blood on her hands. She was hauled to Coldbath Fields prison in chains to await her trial._

_It is unclear what motivated her horrifying attack. Lady Victoria is well known in certain city circles. Her__ former friends may speculate as to whether a fit of jealous rage overcame her, or whether a temporary insanity struck her blind. In either case, a noble Lord has lost his life, and will be greatly mourned._

_A quantity of opium was found in the Hunter-Buttsgrove residence. A spokesman from the Bow Street Magistrates' court implied that there were sufficient quantities to rival an Oriental brothel..._

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Though the article - which continues with little truth and much speculation - sickens me, I am relieved by it. There is no mention of the name Masen, no hint that any other party was involved, and no direct quotes from anyone. Perhaps Jenks performed his usual miracles.

I look up from the page to find Em watching me closely.

"I need to get home. I left Bella in a state, and Jasper..." I shake my head. I have not yet begun to process my anger with my brother.

"I have recently come from your house, Edward. There was quite a commotion there when Rose and I arrived early this morning."

"Was there?" My wry smile is utterly without humour.

Em nods. "Do you want to tell me your story first, or hear mine?"

"You had better tell me what to expect, Em, because I do not know how to begin with what happened yesterday."

A serving boy bearing a tray of coffee and buns arrives. He clears the debris from around me, and is about to throw a scrap of writing paper into the fire when I shoot out a hand to hold his wrist. "Wait, boy, I want that."

"Sorry, Sir." He bows and hands me the scrap of paper bearing the composition I was writing in my drunken stupor. I have no idea whether the music will be any good, but I was writing it for Bella, and I want the opportunity to find out. I fold it and slip it into my waistcoat pocket. It reminds me of how I used to wear her letters next to my heart.

Em pours the coffee. I sip at its bitter richness while my cousin considers how to begin.

"Rose and Aunt Jane do not enjoy one another's company," he says. This is an unexpected beginning. The world does not revolve around my problems after all. I internally roll my eyes, and gesture for Em to continue.

"I discovered my wife and Aunt insulting one another at the breakfast table this morning. I was quite alarmed at what they were accusing one another of – Jane is accustomed to having her way in all things, as you well know... anyway, their argument was not pretty. I thought it politic to leave for a while. I brought Rosalie to see her sister in the hope that Bella could soothe her. I walked into the midst of a greater argument at King's Square."

"Who was arguing with whom?" I am immediately on edge – if Jasper has upset my wife to the smallest degree, I will have his hide.

Em chuckles at the images in his mind. "Well, let me see. Your brother, sporting a bruised face and a black eye, which I believe are your doing?" He cocks an eyebrow at me in question.

I nod. The dunderhead deserved what he got.

"So, Jasper was spitting teeth at your butler and your groom, while Bella's maid – Alice – wrung her hands and wept buckets; and for the most part, your wife sat serenely listening to them all until she'd decided she'd had enough."

"What do you mean?"

"As far as I understood, your butler and groom were under strict orders to take Bella home to Forbrigg at first light. Alice was meant to accompany her. Jasper intended to rescind your orders in your absence. He refused to allow Bella to leave, and absolutely put his foot down at Alice leaving too. What the devil is all that about, Edward?"

"I will tell you when you relate how it was resolved." My foul body slumps back into the comfort of the upholstered chair. I cannot imagine how I will deal with all this when I return.

"The argument became more and more heated. Your groom refused to back down, though Samuels looked as though he might be wavering. Alice was wailing about wanting to leave before you returned, which seemed to be making Jasper even more angry. Then your lovely wife stood up and addressed them all like the true lady she is."

"What did she say?" I sit up straight again to hear this.

"She said if it was your wish that she return to Forbrigg immediately, then that is what she would do. She said she would not be persuaded to disobey you again, at which Jasper flushed bright red and hung his head. Then she told Alice - very gently - that it was up to her to decide which master to obey, and that she would understand her choice either way. Then Rosalie asked whether she could speak to me in private, and blow me down if she didn't request my permission to accompany Bella to Forbrigg in Alice's stead!"

"And you can refuse your wife nothing, Em. When do they plan to depart, then?"

"They have gone, old fellow. Two hours ago."

"God damn it all to hell, they have _gone_?" As my anger swells through my body again, a weary part of my soul looks on with despair. It is my quick temper that has left me in this position. I slap my hand to my eyes to close out the image of my cousin's concern. I do not deserve his unwavering friendship.

"Will you tell me what the matter is, Ed? Things were said this morning that have me worried, my friend."

"I do not know where to begin. Tell me, Em, have I always been as quick to anger as this?"

He cocks his head to one side, considering. "Well, no – no. You were quite the fun loving young lad as far as I can recall. I remember you laughing, more than anything. I suppose you had the boxing to absorb your fire. It is only in the last few years that I've known you – like this," he gestures at me with his hand, "All brooding and dark. Is it because of your father passing on? I just assumed, the responsibility, you know..."

"Perhaps. I honestly do not know. Let me tell you my story, Em. I hope you are in no hurry, for it will take some time."

"My dear friend, the only person who could tear me away from you is in a carriage on her way to Norfolk. Speak." He settles back in his chair, rests his boots upon the footstool in front of him and folds his hands under his chin.

I have his full attention.

"I suppose I ought to begin with an incident that occurred more than two years ago..."

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When I finally reach home there is a card from Jenks on the tray. I hope fervently that his news can wait, because I do not feel up to dealing with him now.

I managed a vinegar and warm water wash at White's, but I am still in the stinking clothes I wore yesterday. I climb quietly and wearily to my room, hoping to avoid my brother for a little longer.

Bella's scent pervades the desolate space.

The bedroom is so clean and neat, it is as though she was never here. Her brushes, her toiletries, her robe, her writing set – all are gone. I suppose this pain I feel is loneliness.

There is a rose in a small vase on the writing table that was not there before; propped against it is a note in Bella's pretty hand.

I strip off my clothes and pull on a clean shirt and breeches before approaching it. I am so reluctant to read the accusations I feel sure she will level at me, I consider leaving it be until the morning. Where does all this cowardice come from? I am not known to delay my battles.

When I lift the note, a small wrapped parcel that was concealed behind it slips forward on the polished rosewood surface. Within the layers of tissue paper, I find a small ceramic fob on a gold chain. Painted on it, the brush strokes as delicate as the exquisite features they portray, is a likeness of my wife. I recognise Rose's style. It is beautiful.

Clutching the likeness in my hand, I open the letter from Bella.

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_9__th__ June 1795_

_My beloved husband,_

_I have not slept this long night as thoughts of what I must say to you have whirled in and out of my head these many hours. Yet, I still do not know how to write. Please forgive my lack of eloquence – if you can forgive me anything, perhaps it is that._

_I am so very sorry for my foolish behaviour. If I had known the danger I was in, I would not have left your brother's side for anything. I understand now that you tried to warn me twice. I recall your telling me that Vicky and James were no friends of ours, and I am ashamed that I did not heed your words. I expected your brother to __ensure __I__ returned__ safely home yesterday__, but I do not think he had the slightest notion that my life was in danger. Jasper will have to make his own peace with you, but I do not blame him for that – the fault is mine. _

_A worse error on my part was allowing myself to be drawn into a grievous deception. I thought that not telling you about Alice and Jasper's fondness for one another was a safer path. I never lied to you, but I did not reveal the truth, and I understand now that one kind of deception is as bad as another. I was hoping you would forbid me to go out yesterday, and even that deception was a sin, for which I was sorely punished. Please know that I have been renewing my wedding vows all night long. Although the only witness was God Himself, I believe He understands my sincerity. I will obey you in spirit, Edward, as completely as I cherish and love you._

_Perhaps my gravest error was this: I did not appreciate until now the depth of gentleness in your soul. I expected you to punish me for my wrong-doing, and you did; but not in the way I imagined. Husband, you are unlike my father in many ways, but your restraint in your anger is a noble difference indeed. I am so very ashamed of my assumption that all men are alike in their desire to strike the __weaker sex. Your leaving me has taught me a harsh lesson, but I have learned it well. I beg your forgiveness, Sir__._

_Your humble wife,_

_Isabella Masen_

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My headache returns with a vengeance. I lie down on the bed in the spot where I last lay with my wife weeping in my arms, and stare at the ceiling.

There is no enlightenment there.

She thinks I left to punish her. I suppose she felt my abandonment as a punishment, but that is so far from the truth as to make me feel quite ill. I may as well have beaten her with a stick, as left her to her own thoughts and fears.

I am not the man I believed myself to be. I am a coward who runs from himself and his responsibilities at the first sign of difficulty. I am a fool, easily tempted to violence by a temper I cannot contain. I am blind to the needs of the people I love, so immersed in my own importance that I cannot see further than my nose. And worst of all, I am full of unwarranted pride; I cannot keep my family safe by sharing the most basic information with them, for fear they will think less of me.

I do not deserve the title 'husband'.

I took you as my wife, Isabella Masen. I promised before God and all our witnesses to hold you, love you, cherish you until death do us part. Death, not idiocy!

_And thereto I plight thee my troth_. Why do the vows differ in this manner? Why are you required to _give_ me your troth, while I _plight_ mine? Is it because the woman places her life, her trust, her entire being in the hands of her husband, while he merely takes what is offered and behaves as he will? You gave yourself to me, Bella, and I promised to take care of you, but I have failed at the first impediment. Perhaps a promise is harder to keep than a life is to be given?

I had better end this pointless brooding. There are things to be done – I have a family to lead. I may not be worthy of it, but I am head of a household nevertheless. The sooner I make amends here in London, the sooner I can ride home to my wife.

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Searching the house for Jasper, it is Alice I encounter first. She emerges from Jasper's room carrying a heap of folded linens. When she sees me standing at the far end of the corridor, she startles, and almost drops them. She curtsies to me and stands stock-still, mute in her fear – for it is fear written deep into her features that I read.

"Alice." I keep my voice soft so she can be in no doubt of my concern for her. "Are you well?" I walk steadily forwards as I speak; she has the appearance of a wild deer, ready to bolt at any moment.

"Yes, Sir," she whispers. She appears momentarily confused.

"Where is my brother?" The fear returns to her face immediately. She warily inclines her head towards his room.

"Would you ask him to come downstairs to talk to me please?"

She curtsies again, but is hesitant.

"What's wrong, Alice? Is he – is Mr Masen well?" Perhaps she is frightened to address him. I wonder what on earth has passed between them since yesterday.

"Yes, Sir, he is well. Please, Sir – please do not hurt him." Her whisper is barely audible this time. It is me she is frightened of. Little wonder.

"Alice, please, just ask Mr Masen to attend me in my study. Everything will be all right, you will see. We will take care of you, I promise." I reach out a hand to caress her head – a gesture meant to be soothing, but she mistakes me and flinches from my hand. Jasper emerges from his room behind us at this very moment. I suppose he sees my hand raised and the girl cringing away from me. He emits a low growl, and rushes to place himself between Alice and I.

I can only look at him in reproach.

His left eye is ringed with dark purple, and his cheek is slightly swollen. I am pleased I did not damage him too severely.

He recovers himself. "Edward." He nods at me, eyes lowered.

"Jasper." What am I going to do with him? I clap my hand on his shoulder. "Come. We will walk. The day is still warm."

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My brother and I head, shoulder to shoulder, towards the river. The sun is shining this evening, and a light breeze ruffles the heavy grey water. Street vendors vie for our attention, but it is not forthcoming. We are both stewing in our attempt to find words.

Finally, Jasper speaks. "I do not know how to tell you how sorry I am for what occurred yesterday, Edward. I did not know the threat Victoria posed, or I would never have allowed Bella to leave with her."

"I know."

"I do not mean to excuse myself; I behaved abominably, and I long to make amends – but, why did you not tell me of the threat? What was – had James gone mad?"

I stop at the railing overlooking the Thames and watch the barges as they progress slowly upstream. The tide is low. The acrid smell from the exposed riverbanks reminds me of the stench in James' salon, and nausea makes my stomach roil. I take the discomfort in stride – it is a small, fitting punishment. Removing my hat, I run my hand through my clean hair. Jasper waits patiently for my response.

"I think he must have lost his reason. I see now that his madness was a long time coming. He has not been of entirely sound mind for years, but I ignored the symptoms. They found – he used opium. It does one no good. I suspect he forced it on Victoria, too."

"But why take Bella? What did he mean to achieve? Was he _so_ angry with you?"

"I know why, Jasper, but do not expect it to make any sense." Oh, how I loathe talking about this. My brother waits for me to continue, warily.

"Some while ago, James took great pleasure in drugging me and rendering me helpless. He overpowered and abused me. That is, he used his wife to abuse me. It pains me to tell you this, Jasper, but after Victoria had her way with _me_, he expected to be able to take his turn with my wife. He was determined, I suppose. Nothing was going to stop him. He threatened me when I saw him last. He was quite mad, you are right. And now he is dead."

Jasper looks at me with sympathy. "Yes. It makes no sense at all. I understand why you would not openly disclose _that_ threat. You and James were very close at one point, were you not?"

I nod. We were. I could not have foreseen the person he became.

I turn to look my brother in the eye. "I am angry with you for two reasons. The first is the manner in which you not only plotted to deceive me, but persuaded _my wife_ to engage in the deception, with complete and utter disregard for her safety and her moral integrity. You are training for the clergy, Jasper! How do you expect to play the role of spiritual leader, when you so easily lead your innocent sister into disgrace?"

The pain and regret apparent on my brother's features assuages my anger slightly. It strikes me, as he struggles to respond, that this anger feels different to the quick fire I usually succumb to. For once, I am in control of my temper; it does not control me.

"I understand, Edward. I..." He shuffles his feet; looks at the ground; stares up to the heavens. He apparently finds no inspiration, and sighs in defeat. "I cannot defend myself. I behaved very badly. I am deeply mortified by the outcome of my foolishness. I can hardly bear to think of what you have been through, and Bella's experience must have been worse. To know that I am responsible for the discord between you and my sister, though – that is the worst possible punishment I can endure. I am the poorest of brothers, and I beg you to direct all your anger towards me. Bella deserves none of it."

"I am no longer angry with Bella," I say, placing a hand on my brother's shoulder. "I was hurt; I am still wounded, but it is my fault entirely that she did not comprehend the situation she was placing herself in. I think – well, I believe I understand her and myself better now. I am not blameless, Jasper. But I am glad to hear you acknowledge your part. We can put that behind us now. However," I pause, seeking my own inspiration in the blue evening sky. "There is still the matter of Alice."

At the mention of her name, Jasper straightens his bearing. He almost takes on a battle stance.

"What could you possibly be thinking, little brother?" I use an old term of endearment to show that I do not wish to judge. I actually find it difficult _not_ to judge, though.

"Alice is everything to me, Edward. I love her. More than anything."

"You _love_ her?" He stares at me unflinchingly; his blue eyes painfully sincere. He seems so young. Or perhaps I feel too old. Older than I ought to. My experiences in the last twenty-four hours have aged me eighty years, if such a thing is possible.

Jasper's answer is emphatic. "Yes. I do. I will do anything for her."

I did not expect this. He _loves_ her? Wait – has he not believed himself in love before?

"Jasper, how do you know? Forgive me for raising it, but you have little experience of women and love...and if I may say so, Alice has far less..."

"I _know_, Edward. I know deep within my bones that Alice Swan is the woman I am meant to spend the rest of my life with. And I understand completely that my superior birth and worldly knowledge makes her vulnerable to my seduction; believe me when I tell you that I have agonised over our relationship. But Alice put her faith in me. I trust her and she trusts me, and I will make this right somehow. I hoped you would support me, older brother."

His words wound me anew. Only yesterday, I believed similarly – I trusted Bella, and she trusted me with all her heart. Oh, how the mighty are fallen. Neither of us truly trusted the other. Like Saul, the scales have fallen from my eyes. _I have not been what I ought to have been__!_

But I may be a good brother, yet.

"Do you understand how this looks, Jasper? You are to inherit the living at Forbrigg. You are counted upon to take it up very soon! You cannot do so with a mistress, and if you marry Alice, you will not be in a position to lead the community in prayer. They will not accept you, or her – is that what you want for her? Gossip and slander and life as an outcast? Wait - before you answer, think very deeply, Jasper. It is not only your happiness at stake here. You tell me you will put Alice above everything. Do you mean that? Does that include giving her up, for her own benefit?"

As I speak, something that my brother said is niggling at the back of my mind. Something that did not sound quite right – so I am taken off guard by his response.

"I _will_ marry her. If we fail to find acceptance here, we will leave England. We will cross the ocean if we have to. It is the last resort to answer our desire to be together, but we will take it. We discussed this yesterday. We met with a broker – oh, Edward, we do not wish to leave you, far from it; but if it is the only way..."

He reaches out to grasp my arm, offering _me_ comfort now. I must look shocked. I _am_ shocked, but something has connected in my mind, and it is not Jasper's dramatic announcement about his imminent emigration.

"You called her Alice Swan."

"Yes? She has taken the name of her employer, it is not uncommon..."

"No; but what if it is true? What if she was born Alice Swan?"

"I don't follow you..."

"James told you that Swan had a sister, did he not?"

"Yes; a half sister, if I recall correctly. What are you driving at?"

"She must have been a good deal younger than her brother. Just the right age to appeal to that _fucking_ fiend." I am speculating wildly, but my instinct is engaged. Something tells me that I am close to the truth here...

"Edward, what are you talking about?"

"What if Alice Swan is Charles Swan's niece? What if she should actually bear the name Black? Alice Black, daughter of William and whatever Swan's sister was called?"

Jasper's eyebrows shoot up into his hat. "Actually, that would make some sense...some of what Alice has told me has seemed so strange. Without rational explanation, really, unless..."

"Come on. We will go and talk to her. She must know something. And Jasper?"

He stops in mid turn, one foot comically raised in anticipation of a mad dash home to the apparent love of his life.

"You saw _a broker_? You went that far in your effort to hide from me?"

"I am afraid I did. Your reaction embarrasses me, if that consoles you at all." He puts his foot back down upon the ground and faces me again. "Edward, Alice is terrified of both Swan and Black. That she trusts me is a miracle. She is frightened of you, of Samuels, of Jacob, Laurent...Her natural inclination is to hide. I thought, if we left, she would not need to hide any more."

Honestly, I am not at all certain my brother would survive the New World. He looks at me with such candour and such faith...

"You will not need to leave the country, you squirrel-head. Why you could not just talk to me, I will never know. I suppose it is another thing I will have to add to the long list of failings I own."

"Please, Edward, allow me title to my own folly. It is the least you can do."

I laugh, and good lord, it feels liberating. Relief and excitement may have made my brother and me light-headed. At least, now that we have action to take, our hearts are lighter.

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_**What should Jasper do?**_

_**Your reviews have been thrilling. I would recommend you read each other's, because they range from entertaining to illuminating; heart-wrenching to sublime. Thank you, and thank you for reading my story even if you haven't been in touch – I am deeply grateful.**_

_**Have you all been to the blog site Rob Attack? It posts a bit of fun every day of the week. I know many of you have, because you voted PTMT one of your 'Best of 2011 WiPs'. I am still dancing with happiness, thank you. Some other wonderful stories were on the list, go and have a look. Just Google Rob Attack.**_

_**I am Gingerandgreen on Twitter. Talk to me.**_

_**Next installment in a fortnight. :) Bella and her lord will be reunited, but not without drama. **_


	15. Chapter 14 In Sickness and In Health

_**This story is based on Stephenie Meyer's original Twilight saga. It doesn't belong to me. I don't believe in 'Intellectual Property'.**_

_**I have an apology to make along with my thanks, but I will do it at the end. This chapter marks the place on the beach where it is safe to return to the water. Please wave the flag for me.**_

_**I would like to have studied English, but I never did. I do recall learning about the Romantic Poets at school, and my kids have covered them too. I love poetry. I never once recall hearing the name Joanna Baillie before. She was a renowned, respected, prolific Romantic poet. She began publishing her work in 1790. The sonnet I include here has no date of publication, so I cannot guarantee that Lord Masen would have read it, but allow me some licence. This chapter is dedicated to the myriad talented and creative people ignored by history because they are WOMEN.**_

_**The chapter is unbeta-ed. (Please tell me how to spell this word).**_

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**Chapter****14**** – ****In ****Sickness ****and ****in ****Health**

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10th June 1795

My Beloved,

I have begun this letter too many times. You asked me to forgive your lack of eloquence, then wrote with eloquence beyond the most lauded poets'. I do not have your skill with quill and ink, but I will do my best. I beg for your patience.

I had hoped to be in your presence to ask for your absolution, but once again, circumstance keeps me from you. Please know that it was not my intention to send you home without a word. The responsibility and the folly of it is all mine.

Before I can see you again, I must attend my enemy's funeral. It is a sobering duty. There was talk of my giving a speech, but I refused immediately. It appears I was not the only friend that James estranged. The scandal-seekers will outnumber the mourners at this funeral by a heavy majority. If I were at home with you, nothing on God's Earth would make me attend; but I do not wish any speculation to arise about what passed between Buttsgrove and myself, so I must go. I will reflect on the man I knew in youth, for I do mourn that James. The despicable man he became, I say good riddance to.

Oh Bella, I miss you. I am not whole without you. I hope you can forgive my foolish behaviour. Knowing that I hurt you has wounded me far deeper than any rash scheme of deception ever could. We will talk more on this when we are together, which I hope will be soon.

My brother does not ask for your forgiveness, as he feels he does not deserve it. He will write to you himself; I cannot speak for him. We have mended our rift with honesty, though he understands my residual anger at what transpired. I blame myself above all others; please know that I cannot find any place in my heart to blame you for any part.

When I awoke this morning and my arms were empty, I felt real pain in my breast. Please forgive me. I will endeavour to become the husband you deserve – an honourable and gentle man, who does not hide from the consequences of his actions. I, too have revisited my wedding vows, and found my former understanding of them lacking. I pray for the wisdom to always act the part of the man you are entitled to.

Your loving husband,

Edward

Post script: My Love, on re-reading my letter I was struck by how poorly my words convey my feelings. I enclose a sonnet I found by Joanna Baillie, who paints a far prettier picture of what is in my heart when I think of you.

_WHETHER __thy __locks __in __natural __beauty __stray,  
>Clust'ring <em>_like __woodbind __wild, __or __haply __bound,  
>Like <em>_ivy __wreath __thy __polish'd __brows __around;  
>Whether <em>_within __thine __eyes' __blue _brown _mirror __play  
>Mirth's <em>_arrowy __beams __or __love's __more__s often'd __ray;  
>Whether <em>_to __the __gay __viol's __pleasant __sound  
>Thou <em>_minglest __in __the __dance's __airy __round,  
>Thy <em>_light __feet __twinkling __like __the __darts __of __day;  
>Or <em>_whether __o'er __the __graceful __harp __thy __frame,  
>More <em>_graceful __yet, __with __eyes __up-rais'd __thou __bendest,  
>And <em>_with __its __tones __thy __own, __far __sweeter, __blendest;  
>Still <em>_thou __art __loveliest, __varying, __yet __the __same,  
>Still <em>_o'er __my __soul __thine __absolute __sway __extendest,  
>And <em>_from __all __other __loves __my __heart __defendest._

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_10__th __June __1795_

"Thank you Carrie. Tell Mrs Smith I wish to speak to her in my study in," I glance at the grandfather clock, slowly counting time with measured beats.; "...an hour."

She settles the tea things and curtsies. "Yes, M'lord. Will that be all, M'lord?"

I nod and return my gaze to Jasper and Alice, clasping one another's hands on the love seat. How apt. My wry thoughts twist the corners of my mouth. "Alice, would you pour?"

She leaps up to perform the task. Her shaking hands rattle the china, but she manages to prepare first my tea, then my brother's. The poor girl forgets to pour any for herself, and is sent back to do so by an inclination of Jasper's head. It would perhaps be better if he had not, for the irregular clink of cup on saucer betrays her fear. I lean forward and remove the porcelain from her trembling grasp, placing it gently on a card table nearby.

Jasper clasps her hand again in sympathy.

"Alice, I am sorry you are so frightened," I say, hoping that by addressing the obvious we can bypass it. "I give you my word that no harm will come to you. It is my duty to care for and provide for you as a member of my staff; and as the object of my brother's affection, it is my pleasure to do so. Do you accept that my intentions towards you are good?"

For perhaps the first time since I met her, Alice looks straight at me. I am startled by the intensity and intelligence of her blue eyes. She measures my sincerity for a long while before she nods. She does not speak.

My brother is relieved. I can see the air leaving his lungs in the relaxation of his chest and shoulders. He leans forward and kisses Alice on the cheek; a gesture that makes her jump, and smile timidly. Her eyes fly back to mine to assess my reaction.

I wonder what she sees.

"Given that, we need to discuss your future. I would very much like to see both of you happy. But I fear that in order for your happiness to begin, we must first address your past. Do you understand?" I speak very gently. I lean forward in my chair in order to breach the distance between us. My forearms rest on my thighs and my head tilts upwards so that she can see me smile.

I wonder fleetingly whether any man addressed Alice with kindness before Jasper did. Would her regard for him remain, if she were in company with other gentlemen? If she is a gentleman's daughter; and assuming her father can be persuaded to admit to it – is it fair to her, to limit her choice to one man?

The absurdity of the thought strikes me a moment later. Women really have very little choice in their husbands, and Alice will have less than most, whatever happens. Besides, if Jasper has taken her virtue, she must be his. I will not stand for any other course of action. I will ask him later; for the moment, I will continue as though the matter is settled.

"What about my past?" Alice whispers. She turns to Jasper, imploring him for clarity with big, round eyes.

"Hear my brother out, Sweetheart. He will explain."

She turns back to me. I can almost hear her heart flutter beneath her quickened breath.

"My wife has told me as much as she knows about your arrival at Seat Manor. She has related the story of when my father-in-law apparently lost his mind and beat you so severely you could not walk. Forgive me, Alice, I can see this is painful to discuss..." Tears well up in her eyes and threaten to spill down her cheeks.

I look helplessly to Jasper, who fumbles in his pocket for a handkerchief. She smiles gratefully at him, and delicately dabs her eyes. I see the sniff that indicates her attempt to be braver, though I do not hear it.

For all his bombastic faults, Swan has not neglected to educate Alice in the art of being a lady. I know she does not sing or paint, and I doubt her calligraphy compares to Bella's or Rose's. But she has a fine eye for design, and spends a great deal of her time in sewing and embroidery. Bella's surprisingly fashionable wardrobe is testament to it. Alice is not without accomplishments.

"The short of it, Alice, is that we have suspicions as to your parentage. We would like to hear from you as much as you know, so that we can confirm or deny our theory. What did you overhear Sir Charles Swan and Mr William Black discussing that left them feeling so threatened they beat you in that way? You are amongst friends. If you tell us, we can protect you."

She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. She presses Jasper's handkerchief to her eyes as the tears begin to spill down her face in earnest now.

Pain darkens my brother's expression. He pulls the girl into his arms and strokes her hair, murmuring lovingly to her. I have to look away.

I miss my wife. Bella would know what to do if she were here.

The grandfather clock ticks on infinitely in the dim afternoon light. Eventually, Alice's sobs subside. She pulls away from Jasper to face me again.

"I apol..." A loud hiccup interrupts her attempt to speak. We all laugh, and the intense atmosphere in the room lightens.

"I apologise. I really did not hear much at all, I was discovered almost immediately. What I did overhear made little sense. They were shouting at one another, a not uncommon occurrence. Mr Black said something like '_now __that __she __is __dead' ... 'the __confession __is __destroyed' _... something about Sir Charles no longer having a hold over him ... and then Sir Charles shouted my name, and I was caught."

"And he threatened to turn you onto the streets?" Jasper prompts her with a kindness I am proud of. I see the way he strokes her hand, stilling his own agitation in order to be strong for Alice.

"He told me that he would send me to work in a … a... I cannot say it." Alice buries her flushed face in Jasper's handkerchief.

A few seconds pass before understanding strikes my brother and I simultaneously. She means a whorehouse. Jasper cannot maintain his equilibrium. He leaps to his feet and begins to stride around the room. His hands reach for his hair in a gesture of frustration I know well.

"I want to kill him," he says to me.

"I understand. Completely."

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I leave Jasper to comfort Alice, and go to meet our London housekeeper. I begin to miss Samuels almost as much as I miss Bella. I will never accomplish all that I need to at this rate.

Mrs Smith waits for me in my study. Her hard features belie the warmth I know to be in her heart, so I am not concerned about what I am to ask of her – though I know it will not be particularly easy.

"Thank you for waiting, Mrs Smith. I have a number of important issues to discuss with you. Please take a seat."

"Thank you, my Lord." She perches her large rump daintily on the edge of the chair in front of my desk, and I settle mine into my own, clasping my hands on top of the heavy antique wood.

"First of all, allow me to compliment you on the maintenance and running of the residence during my extended absence. You are a highly valued member of my staff. I am aware that you take responsibility upon yourself to oversee staff in my other properties in the square, and while I do not directly benefit from this, I acknowledge it helps to ensure that my let properties are well maintained. In recognition of your hard work and loyalty, I will increase your annual salary by £4."

"Thank you my Lord!" Her cheeks flush with pleasure and she clasps her worn hands to her chest as though she struggles to catch her breath.

"Now, there are three youngsters who were working for Sir Hunter-Buttsgrove before he – er, died. I have offered them a training place here. They will require a firm hand, Mrs Smith, and lessons in the fine qualities you yourself display. Do you understand?"

"Oh yes, Sir. You can count on me."

I smile. "I know I can, Mrs Smith. Mr Jenks' man will bring them here tomorrow morning. Two girls and a lad. I leave it to you to decide what they are to be trained in. Now, there is another rather delicate matter I wish to discuss with you."

"Sir?"

I rub my fingers over my eyes. I may as well get used to this. I smile again, as though what I am about to say is utterly normal.

"Miss Alice Swan has been living amongst us as a maid. She has been forced to conceal her true identity because she has been in grave danger. Now that her identity has been revealed to us, Mr Masen and I have sworn to protect her. In view of this, Miss Alice has agreed to reveal her true status as a lady, and will live amongst us as such. Discretion is still paramount Mrs Smith, because the danger she is in has not passed. However, I expect you and the rest of my staff to extend the same courtesy to her as you would any member of the family. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my Lord...but..." The flush has left my housekeeper's cheeks, and an unnatural pallor has replaced it. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

"But, Mrs Smith?"

She shakes her head. "Sorry Sir, I was just...surprised. Would you have me make up a guest room, Sir?"

"If you would. And Miss Alice will take her meals with the family from now on. Is there anything else?"

"Er...will Miss Alice require a...lady's maid, Sir?"

I clear my throat. This is uncomfortable. "I think you will have to discuss that with her. Please remember, her life is at stake, and she remains very frightened. I rely on your kindness, Mrs Smith. If anyone can manage this transition, it is you."

"Of course, my Lord. I will attend to things immediately. Thank you for your trust, Sir."

If only I could control the rest of the world in this easy manner.

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_11__th __June __1795_

"Thank you, Jenks. And your man has not returned from the convent where Miss Alice was raised?"

"Oh, I thought it wise to send a woman for that particular task. Did I not say?"

"No, but I can see your point. So she is staying there?"

"Yes, she will attempt to befriend the nuns who knew the child, see what she can find out. She writes every day – but has had little to report so far."

"I see."

Jenks and I are at White's once more, and my recollection of my previous two visits make my clothes itch. I loosen my cravat yet again by pulling it away from my neck.

I really need to leave. I have too much anxious energy to spend my time in comfortable leather seats and smoky air.

"Black remains in town, you say?"

"Yes, Sir. In fact, he was followed to King's Square yesterday."

"Indeed? He came to my _house_? What did he do?"

"He merely strolled around the square and left again, Sir. Perhaps he was hoping for a glimpse of a household member? One can only speculate."

"Give me his address. I will not have him anywhere near any member of my household, for any reason." My left knee bounces incessantly, and makes me think of Bella. Though she would never say so, my nervous leg habit annoys her. She would suggest a form of exercise if she were here.

Jenks has written Black's address on a card for me. I rise, and he quickly follows suit out of respect, scattering paper and quill to the floor.

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Black's residence is not far from the club, so I opt to walk.

The day is dull and cool, reflecting my sombre mood as well as my dark grey coat. I blend into the crowd easily in my mourning clothes, chosen for appearance's sake. I appreciate their other value now, for I have spied the hypocrite walking purposefully ahead of me, and I intend to follow him.

He heads towards Covent Garden, where we met him a few days ago - in happier times. I recall the ecstasy in Bella's eyes as she listened to the opera that night, and almost lose my footing. A rat-chaser dodges around my legs, and I know I need to focus on the present if I hope to amend the effects of the past.

The vicar appears to be deep in thought, watching his feet upon the road, avoiding the foot traffic around him by instinct.

He stops to buy a small posy of marigolds from a flower-seller. As soon as he has moved on, I approach her.

"A posy for your mistress, Sir?" she asks, raising a smudged eyebrow.

I eye the woman coldly and she drops her teasing gaze.

"That gentleman who just paid you – have you met him before?"

"What's it to you, Sir?"

I place a coin in her small, outstretched palm, dirt engrained in the lines and scrapes it is covered with.

"Yes, I know him. He buys a posy every day he's in town. He's a man of the cloth. Prays all the time, is how I know. What he wants the flowers for, you'll have to ask him. He don't talk to the likes of me."

I nod my thanks, and hurry after Black again. He turns a corner, and I fear I will lose him; but when I reach it, he stands a short distance away in front of a narrow alley, waiting for a barrow to exit.

His body holds the tension of a fiend waiting to pass through the gates of hell. Or perhaps that is just my fancy. His movements are furtive and impatient, and he rubs the back of his neck as though he feels my judgement boring into him.

If I could strike him dead with my ire alone, I would do it.

He slips into the alley and I speed forward to catch him. It is dark and dingy, buildings on either side of the street haphazardly leaning together to block the light. This is precisely the kind of untamed construction which leads to fire and loss of life - I am surprised they are left standing.

Black stands at a door in the shadows, awaiting entrance. I am about to lose him...I contemplate what to do for a second, but then my mouth speaks without my mind's permission.

"Mr Black!"

He turns and stares at me as I narrow the distance between us, frozen in his surprise.

"Lord Masen?" His voice is a hoarse whisper.

Mine is loud and hard. "What are you doing?"

"I...er...what..." He looks frantically around for succour, but the only other occupants of the alley are a group of young children playing marbles in the dirt.

"I asked, what are you doing?" I have reached him, and he flinches away from me. I realise I may be holding my stick in a threatening manner. I lower it slightly.

"Did you follow me?" asks Black, still cringing.

"I did. Who lives here? What are you doing?" My speech is slow and measured, almost staccato.

"A..a family. I am visiting a family...in need."

"What are they in need of, Mr Black?"

"Prayer?" We both know he has not come here to pray.

"Prayer. I see. So your Bishop is aware of your frequent visits here?"

I can see the whirl of his mind as he attempts to find the words that will satisfy me. Again, we both know there are none. He wisely remains silent.

"Is your family still alive, Mr Black? Your parents? Do you have siblings?"

"My father..." He licks his flaking lips and swallows hard before continuing. "My father lives. I have no siblings. My mother passed many years ago...Why do you ask?"

"I want to know where you come from, Mr Black. What led you here? For a clergyman, you spend a great deal of time in dark places."

I feel a tug at my coat, and I look down – a small boy, dirt smeared across his nose, looks up at me with begging eyes. Before I can take cognisance of it, Black turns on his heel, pushes past me and flees back down the alleyway.

Damned coward.

"Come here." I gesture for the little boy to follow me, and we make our way over to the group of children. The oldest cannot be a day over six years old. I squat down until I am on their level. They stare silently at me with huge, solemn eyes.

"That man, the cowardy custard one who ran away, do you see him a lot?"

They continue to stare, but a small girl elects herself spokesperson for the group.

"Yes. Sometimes every day. He's mean. Are you rich?"

"Yes, I am. I am so rich, I could give you each a coin for your marbles and not even empty my purse." The children stare at each other in wonder.

"Does you want to buy our marbles, Mister?"

"I do. Will you sell them to me?"

The girl looks seriously at each of the other children in turn. They would all rather have money than marbles, which are easily won.

"A coin each?"

I pull out my purse and make a show out of placing a ha'penny in each mucky palm. The coins disappear swiftly into intimate articles of clothing.

"Now, here's what I want you to do with the marbles. That mean man who was here? Next time you see him, you pelt him with them. And when you have run out of marbles, use small pebbles. Only small ones, mind, I would not care for any of you to get into trouble with the law." I look into each child's eyes. "Understand? I want you to chase the mean man away, not hurt him. He is a cowardy custard after all. And if you get into any trouble, you are to say that Lord Masen asked you to do it. Can you remember my name?"

They mumble and nod, repeating 'Lord Masen'; even the littlest takes a turn.

"Good children. Well, I must be off now." I stand and doff my hat to them in an exaggerated manner. They giggle sweetly, but I know what a menace they can present, en masse.

Half way down the alleyway, I turn back to see them all still staring at me. I bow deeply, then set off with a skip and a hop. The children's laughter echoes behind me as I leave.

I have brought a little happiness to some lives today.

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_12__th __June __1795_

I lie awake in my quiet bed, petulant and dissatisfied with my day.

My mood is not entirely due to the lack of progress with Black, who, Jenks informs me, has high-tailed it back to Seat.

Nor is it incumbent upon Jasper and Alice, who are so sweet on one another it makes my stomach ache. Alice's tearfulness has abated, thank God; but her eyes never leave my brother's, and her hand is always tucked into his arm.

I miss my wife.

Em misses his wife, too, and I feel responsible. He dined with us this evening, his easy company lightening our mood. Emanuel Cullen bears the gift of optimism, and all things appear possible when he is near. He, Jasper and I played billiards until Em was satisfied that my brother and I could laugh with – and at – one another again. It kept our minds from our troubles for a couple of hours.

But since he left, and Jasper excused himself to 'talk' to Alice, I have been alone with my thoughts. They revolve around one person. Lord, how I miss my wife.

I lie alone in our bed, restless and frustrated. I wonder how Bella will feel about me when we are reunited. Will she be angry? Fearful? Forgiving? Sad?

I almost hope for anger. It would be fitting, and...the idea of appeasing Bella's anger stirs my blood.

Admitting this to myself makes me smile. I imagine my wife, eyes flashing with fury, demanding reparations for my neglect. I like the thought, very much.

One hand reaches for my hardening cock and the other cups and squeezes my aching bollocks. If I am forced to be alone, I may as well indulge myself with fantasy.

I picture Bella in her petticoat – well, with minor alterations. In my vision, her luscious breasts spill over the top of sheer white lace. Dusky half-moon nipples show, too. She stares at me provocatively, with one hand on her jutting hip, material bunched underneath it so that a slim ankle is displayed below.

"_What __do __you __have __to __say __to __me, __Edward __Masen?__" __she __asks, __her __voice __low __and __husky __despite __her __ire._

_I __cross __the __room __to __her __and __kneel __at __her __feet.__ "__I __am __sorry, __Angel. __Tell __me __what __to __do __to __demonstrate __it.__"_

"_You __are __genuinely __repentant?__" _

"_I __am.__"_

"_Then __I __will __tell __you __exactly __how __to __atone __for __your __bad __behaviour. __You __may __begin __by __kissing __me.__"_

_Rather __than __bid __me __rise __to __kiss __her __lips, __she __lifts __her __small __foot __and __holds __it __to __my __face. __I __grasp __it __with __my __hand, __which __is __so __large __it __covers __her __sole __completely. __I __kiss __and __lick __and __nip __at __her __flesh __with __my __lips __and __teeth, __beginning __at __her __toes __and __working __my __way __up. __I __play __close __attention __to __her __ankle, __and __continue __my __path __over __the __soft __skin __of __her __calf, __right __up __to __her __knee._

Bella's feet have enticed me since our wedding day. They are dainty. I have never had cause to use that word before, it amuses me.

My cock is very hard by now, and I rub it gently between my fingers. It feels like returning to visit an old friend. My lance and I have spent many a lonely evening entertaining one another. My large, rough fingers know exactly how hard to press, how quickly to stroke, smooth and rub – but they are a pitiful substitute for the excitement my wife's small fingers evoke.

I return to my fantasy. If I cannot have her in life, I can have her any way I like in my head.

_Brazenly, __Bella __pulls __her __petticoat __higher __to __expose __her __thigh; __then __higher __still, __until __the __soft __curls __of __her __sex __are __just __exposed. __Her __shapely __legs __are __a __pale __contrast __to __the __dark __hair __that __hides __her __swollen __quim._

"_You __may __continue,__" __she __whispers, __still __commanding __me, __but __almost __overcome __with __desire. __When __my __mouth __reaches __her __inner __thigh, __moisture __from __her __arousal __has __coated __the __area. __She __tastes __divine. __Bella __always __tastes __divine._

I grasp my cock with my whole fist now, rubbing slowly up and down, resisting the pull in my groin that anticipates my release. Not yet, old boy.

My angel tells me how much she likes _my_ taste, too, when she kisses me there. I wonder what I taste like to her. It cannot be the same elixir as her juices are to me. I spread some of my early emission around the head of my manhood with my thumb. Just for a moment, I contemplate licking it off, just to see – then I perish the thought with a shudder.

I only want to taste my wife.

_I __bury __my __nose __in __her __soft, __wet __flesh __and __inhale __her __scent. __She __pushes __herself __in to __my __face, __demanding __more __of __my __attention. __I __am __more __than __willing __to __oblige. __My __mouth __delves __in __her __wet __velvet. __I __make __my __tongue __hard, __then __soft, __sweeping __over __her __every __inch, __from __her __bud __to __her __entrance __and __around __again. __I __listen __to __her __frantic __breath __and __gentle __moans, __the __music __of __our __lovemaking, __and __know __she __is __close __to __her __release._

_At __the __moment __she __is __overcome, __my __angel __grasps __my __hair __and __tugs __me __tight __to __her __pulsing __sex. __My __own __pleasure __is __derived __from __hers; __my __cock __weeps __with __lust __for __her __sweet __flesh. __She __pushes __me __away, __and __bids __me __rise._

"_Go __and __stand __by __the __bed __and __place __your __hands __flat __on __the __coverlet.__" __She __commands __me __with __such __confidence __that __I __instantly __obey._

_I __am __naked __now, __exposed __to __her __inspection __as __my __torso __bends __to __her __will. __I __anticipate __the __sharp __retort __of __her __hand __on __my __backside, __and __when __it __comes, __it __stings __deliciously. __She __strikes __me __again, __and __again; __I __am __excited __by __her __punishment, __and __my __hips __flex __my __groin __forward __with __each __loud __slap._

But her disciplining me does not excite me for long. I switch my vision to my wife commanding me to lie upon the bed, cock upright for her pleasure.

_Naked, __she __clambers __astride __me, __lowering __her __soaking __wet __purse __over __my __hard __as __steel __erection. __She __lifts __and __lowers, __lifts __and __lowers... her __breasts __bounce __gently __as __she __moves... and __I __can __no __longer __stave __off __my __release._

Rubbing my foreskin quickly over the head of my cock, I – oh, Bella! - I am undone.

As soon as my seed spills, the image of my fierce and demanding wife fades, leaving me saddened and slightly ashamed. The woman I married is as unlikely to behave so brazenly as I am to allow her to do it.

It is just not who we are. In the bedroom, I am in control, always. Bella has never shown the slightest inclination to do anything but submit to my care and guidance. I give her pleasure, and she receives it with delight and enthusiasm. Wonderful enthusiasm – merely recalling her response to my touch makes me smile.

She would never, ever strike me, for heavens sake. I do not know where that came from, and I do not wish to experience it in reality. By no means. I have to laugh at the strange workings of my own mind.

I rise to wash away the sticky residue of my bizarre fantasy. I can hear a commotion downstairs. I wonder what on earth can have happened now. Surely we have experienced sufficient torture at the hands of the gods of mischief and sorrow?

Quickly donning my outer garments again, I am almost at the bedroom door when there is a knock upon it. I pull it open, and there, on the threshold of my sanctuary, stands the bearer of what can only be news of the most hideous kind.

"Jacob?" My question emerges as a ragged breath, two syllables that convey the longest question my heart can ask.

"I am sorry, My Lord, but your lady needs you."

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I would not allow my groom to set off again to Forbrigg straight away, though he would have done. He must be exhausted by his swift ride to London.

I could not allow my brother to ride with me, either. I would not rest easy with Alice alone in London, and Black at large. We had no precise confirmation of his return to Seat, only conjecture. London is entirely unsafe for the likes of Alice.

There is no holding my cousin back from accompanying me, however. We set off to ride through the night, as far as the horses will carry us.

As we leave the soft lamplight of the city behind, the brilliance of the starred sky is our only guidance. There is very little traffic abroad.

Em carries a hunting rifle on his back for protection, but I cannot fathom his logic. By the time he has loaded and sighted the long barrelled gun, any criminal worth his salt will have performed his deed and left us far behind, dead or alive.

For myself, I favour a sharp knife. I can retrieve it swiftly from the saddlebag and conceal it until it is required. Riding through the night this way is exceedingly dangerous.

The further we get, the slower we must travel. The roads deteriorate fairly quickly and we do not wish to risk injury to our mounts in the darkness. Em and I settle into the grooves made by countless cart wheels. We can talk as we trot abreast one another.

"If Bella was that ill, why did your groom not turn around and bring her home immediately?"

"I asked the same thing, Em, believe me. Apparently my wife refused to allow it. She can be highly determined at times. A man less enamoured of her might call her stubborn, on occasion. Besides, once they had reached a certain point it seemed folly to return. I had made Samuels swear to remain by her side at all times – they acted in what they believed to be our best interests."

"What ails her, Edward? Do you know?"

"I wish I did. Jacob left to fetch me before the physician arrived to give his verdict. She has not been feeling herself since we left Forbrigg for London, but she looked so well, I confess I did not take her complaints seriously." I pause, recalling Bella's intermittent nausea, her intolerance for certain foods, her slow starts to the morning.

"Not that she ever complained aloud, Em. Not once. Do you think she could have been falling ill, and the shock of what she has endured pushed her body beyond the level she can tolerate? I wish she had not taken my command so literally. Do you realise, the last words I spoke to her were spoken in anger?"

My agitation unsettles my mount. The horse pulls at the bit and threatens to bolt. I force myself to calm.

"Bella knows you love her, Edward. She followed your orders out of love and respect for you, remember that."

"I do. You are right. We can only press on and ensure we reach her in time." In time for what, I do not say.

We continue in silence for a mile or so. The night sounds are loud in the darkness. An owl hoots incessantly; a fox cries and is answered; a troupe of small deer gazing on the verge take fright at our approach, and crash and clatter their way into the woodland beyond. Nature does not still herself for darkness.

"How are you managing Alice's transition in status, Ed?" Em's voice jolts me from my reverie.

"It has not been without difficulty, " I laugh. "You know I took in three youngsters from James' household?"

"No, did you? That was very kind of you."

"It was not kindness that drove me, Em. I was attempting to ameliorate the gossip – hmm, that may have rebound against me. There are two girls and a lad. The young man seems fine; with a bit of training – no doubt my staff will lick him into shape. But the girls..."

"Little minxes, I bet."

"They have obviously received far too much attention at Buttsgrove's for their own good. As soon as they were through the kitchen door, they began competing for my attention."

"_Your_ attention? Setting their sights very high, are they not?"

"It really was quite desperate and shocking behaviour. After the third incident yesterday, I lost all tolerance. I called the girls and Mrs Smith into my study, and lectured them on standards of behaviour at great length, and with such sternness, I made my housekeeper cry."

"You did not! You hard-hearted bastard, you. How did the girls react?"

"I believed them to be quite chastened, and I suppose one of them was. I think they had been given a twisted version of the truth about Jasper and Alice, so believed I was fair game for seduction, too."

"You always have had to fend off the fairer sex, my friend. It must be very tedious for you."

"Do not vex me, Em. You have no idea how intolerable I find this kind of attention."

"I apologise, Ed. I am sure you are in no mood for my jokes. So, did something happen with the other girl?"

I groan, and rub my hand over my face. "Yes. She entered my chamber, unbidden, while I was taking my bath. Can you credit it, Em?"

He laughs, a great Emanuel Cullen guffaw; a sound that grounds me.

"What did you do?

I had not thought about it before now, but my reaction was, in fact, exceedingly comical. I begin to laugh as hard as Em. The feeling of relief it brings is indescribable.

Between gulps of air, I attempt to explain. "I stood up in my bath...stark naked...and roared at her to leave...my room...and my house. Then I threw whatever...I could reach at her, as she ...ran from the room."

"I hope she thought the sight of you was worth it," laughs Em, almost sliding from his saddle.

A flash of silver in the near distance quells my laughter. I put my hand out to my cousin's shoulder.

"Hush, Em. What's that, ahead?"

He stills instantly and peers into the darkness. "Something is there...or someone."

We ride forward, cautiously. As we near, I make out the outlines of a carriage, leaning precariously to one side. Silver flashes in the moonlight again; I think a figure is standing close to one of the wheels. I slow even further. This is very likely a trap.

A woman's voice startles us, ringing out into the dark air.

"I am the lure," she says, "If you value your life, do not come any closer."

My cousin and I turn to look at one another. He reaches for his rifle, and I for my knife.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"They have taken my groom and my servant, and tied me here as bait. A party of bandits. They mean me to cry for help, I suppose. They do not know who they are dealing with. Despicable cads. They have robbed me of my money, but they cannot take my pride."

"Good Lord," mutters Em. "How many of them are there, Ma'am?"

"Only three, but there could be others in hiding, I suppose."

"How long have you been here?" I ask. Em and I have come to a complete halt a short distance away. My knife is in my hand, and I peer into the darkness all around as best I can. The sides of the road are heavily wooded, a man could surprise us from any angle.

"Since twilight. The last traveller to pass this way did not stop at all. Are there two of you?"

"Yes Ma'am," I say. Em has loaded up his gun, a tricky job indeed in this light. I hope he does not blow his own hand off.

"They must be close," he murmurs. "They must be able to hear us. What shall we do?"

My heart beats loud and hard in my chest. "Rescue her, of course! I won't leave a woman in the hands of their ilk."

"No, naturally, but what's the plan, Ed?"

"We can see nothing, but neither can they. We will just have to cut her loose and attempt to get away before they attack."

"What are you doing?" The woman's voice is still haughty and proud, but I can hear the fear and hope she attempts to conceal.

"Would you be quiet, Ma'am? We are discussing strategy. We are heavily armed, by the by. We require your complete silence for the time being," I say. I hope the wrongdoers are listening, and fall for my weak ruse. I want the woman to remain silent throughout her rescue.

She does not reply. My blood sings in my ears. "Now, Em," I whisper, "You hold the horses, I will cut her loose."

We creep forward until Em can no longer move without moving the horses. I slide the short distance to the tethered woman, holding my finger to my lips for silence as soon as I can see her clearly.

Her wrists are bound to the wheel with rope. Bile rises in my throat – I recall the moment, only a few days ago, when I cut my angel free from similar bindings. The woman standing here has twenty years on Bella. She trembles, and rubs her bleeding wrists tenderly, but appears otherwise unharmed.

I take her by the arm and begin to lead her away from the carriage, when a curse from Em halts me. Before I know it, a cold blade is pressed to my throat. I push the woman away from me. I can smell foul gin on my foe's flesh. What a stench.

I am surprised by the clarity of my thoughts. I do not feel in any danger at all. "What do you want?" I ask.

"Everything. Everything you own. Begin with your weapons, then your purse, and end with the clothes on your back. I wants it all." The man's voice is coarse, and slurred. He sounds as though his tongue is swollen in his mouth. His breath smells worse than his body.

"Very well. Stand back, and I will comply."

The blade slips away from my throat. As soon as it has gone, I do not hesitate. I whip around to face my assailant. I grasp his neck and knock his feet out from under him with one of mine, in the same swift motion. He falls, but I keep hold of him, and press my own steel to his filthy neck.

A muffled '_oof_' escapes him, but he remains silent otherwise.

"You want my weapon? Here it is," I whisper, debating with myself whether to kill him straight way or leave him for justice. I have never killed a man, and I do not particularly wish to begin with this one.

I can hear scuffling and fighting behind me. The woman screams out, "Get off me, you filthy bugger! Get off!" There is a thump and a cry – a masculine one.

I cannot dither. I let go of the bandit's scruff and slice a shallow wound in the skin under his chin as warning. He curses me evilly, but lies still as I place my boot on his stomach and push down.

"Put your hands together in front of you," I growl at him, and he complies immediately. I slice through my own cravat, and use it to tie his wrists together as tightly as I can. "Don't move," I warn him, before yanking both his boots from his feet and hurling them away from me into the bushes.

I whirl around to rescue the helpless woman once more, to find that she has over-powered her assailant herself. She sits astride a man's chest, pinning his arms to his sides, slapping him repeatedly. Em, apparently unharmed, stands watching them with amusement.

"What the hell happened to you?" I ask my cousin, whose teeth shine eerily through his broad grin in the moonlight.

"I caught a boy rifling through the saddle bags, cracked him over the head and he ran away. I think this is the last one." He indicates the cursing fool at his feet, still suffering at the hands of the lady he robbed.

"Er, Ma'am, could you hold off now? We ought to get you away," I say.

She takes a last swipe at his face, a blow harsh enough to loosen his teeth, and stands up. Em helps the bandit to his feet, and leads him over to my victim. We truss them together tightly, search their bodies for the lady's belongings, and leave them to their fate.

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For the remainder of our very long journey, luck returns to us. We retrieve the carriage lamp from Mrs Markham's vehicle, and she sits in front of Em (who rides the larger horse) and holds it up for us to light the way. It must be an exceedingly tiring duty, but the tough woman does not falter once.

We bid our goodbyes when we reach the nearest traveller's inn, where we change our horses and break our fast (though it is still night) on ale, bread and cheese.

By the time we depart again, light bathes the horizon. Travelling North-East as we are, we are treated to a colourful dawn; God's beautiful reward for our valour, as Em poetically states it.

It is close to noon, and the day is hot and humid. We approach Forbrigg from the rear, taking the shortest cut through fields and parkland. The weary horses, the third pair in our long journey, stop to drink at the stream on the far side of the park, but we only give them a few minutes' rest before pushing on.

We are so close now, and my fear for Bella's health returns in full force. What will I find behind the walls of our home?

The grounds are quiet. Seth greets us at the stables, silent once more. Perhaps he judges me and finds me lacking... But no, his eyes show only concern for his mistress. I rest my hand on his shoulder, offering comfort I do not feel myself.

I turn to my cousin. Having pushed him on for miles, I am oddly reluctant to enter the house now that we are here. My thighs ache, my backside is sore and I have a thirst that will not be satisfied by a jug of ale, but my sole focus is on finding my wife alive and well.

What if she is not? I am paralysed. I cannot begin to contemplate the depths of my misery, should she be worse...or...no.

Em places his arm around my shoulders. "Come on, Man. You have made it this far – do not let your courage fail you now."

My friend's words are a balm to my resolve. My feet regain their purpose, and we walk towards the house together. We enter through the French doors to the orangery, which are opened wide to circulate air in the summer heat.

A maid is polishing the brass legs of plant pots. She drops her cloth and springs to her feet in surprise when she notices us.

"Oh! Lord Masen! You are home!"

I smile at her. "I am. Where is everyone, Emily?"

"I will fetch Mr Samuels for you, Sir." And she is off, a whirl of pale grey skirts skipping to do my bidding. Regardless of my fear, it is so good to be home. The very smell of the house calms me down.

I can hear voices entering the hallway as we near it. I open the door, and there is Rose, speaking to Doctor Crowley. The old physician is smiling kindly at her. He would not be smiling if Bella was dying, would he? My heart leaps into the back of my throat.

Rose catches sight of us first. Her hand flies to her small, round bump and a delighted smile lights her pretty features on fire.

"You are here!" she squeaks, before running, in a most unladylike fashion, into her husband's arms. He sweeps her up and holds her to his breast, fairly crushing her with his bear-like hands.

The physician chuckles indulgently. "You are just in time, Lord Masen," he says, and my throat constricts in fright.

"Just in time?" My voice is strangled. "Just in time for what?"

"I am about to take my leave. Congratulations are in order, young man."

He reaches for my hand, and I give it to him without thought. He shakes it firmly. My thoughts are in chaos, and I cannot make sense of his words. I have not seen the doctor since my wedding...

"Well done, well done. Now you must take very good care of your lovely wife, she is very sick, very sick indeed. I have not seen the like for many a year. Poor girl – you Masens are a trial to your womenfolk, you know."

"Doctor Crowley, please, what are you talking about? What is wrong with my wife? What have I done?" I am beyond bewildered, and I do not like the feeling. Not at all.

"Oh! You do not know, do you? Well, I will let her tell you herself. Go on, go and see her. I must be off. My wife does not like to be kept waiting either, you know. Good day! Good day to you all." And he turns to leave.

"Rose, what... never mind." Rose and Em are locked in an embrace that really only ought to occur behind closed doors.

I presume Bella is upstairs. I climb them slowly, my aching thigh muscles complaining at every stair. Will she be in my room or hers? I pause outside the closed door to Bella's mostly unused suite, but I do not sense her presence there.

I continue down the hallway to my room. I can hear voices within. I tap quietly on the door, and turn the handle. The voices still.

I enter.

Mrs C sits at the foot of the bed, but jumps to her feet when she sees me.

"Oh, my Dear, you are home. " She comes forward and squeezes my hand in hers. "Congratulations, my Lord," she whispers, and then she is gone.

My eyes have not left my Isabella's.

She is pale, very pale. She lies on my side of the bed, her hair loosely tied with a ribbon at her neck. Tendrils float in soft curls, framing her large - too large - eyes. I think she must have faded away since I saw her last.

I cannot read her expression. Her lips curve upwards in a timid smile, and I think those are tears glimmering in her eyes.

"Look at you," she whispers.

"Look at me? What do I look like?" I whisper back.

"Dishevelled. Dusty. Divine."

I smile my lopsided smile at her. "Divine?" I cock my head to one side

"Yes. Divine. Like an angel. Please come here."

I move to sit next to her on the bed, and reach up to stroke her face, reverently. I notice my letter and the sonnet I sent on the pillow beside her.

"I saw Doctor Crowley downstairs."

"Did he tell you?"

"No, Bella. He did not. Please, please tell me what ails you." I pick up her hand and kiss her cool palm, then hold it to my cheek. "I love you," I whisper.

Her returning smile is radiant. "Doctor Crowley says I must stay in my bed for the foreseeable future. I must eat small, regular meals, and drink as much as I can manage. He prescribes ginger and fruit, and says I must listen carefully to my body and eat whatever I crave, as long as it is natural. He says he rarely sees a case quite like this, but the last time he did, it – well, it runs in your family."

"My family? Have I made you sick, Bella?" As though I haven't done enough harm to this exquisite creature, have I made her ill, too?

In answer, she takes my hand, lowers the bed covers, and places it on the warmth of her belly. I can feel the heat radiating through her thin nightgown.

"Yes, Husband. You have made me sick to my stomach, over and over again – but what a gift you have given me."

She strokes her hand over mine, backwards and forwards, round and round. I can feel her pulse – she radiates life, though I have never seen her look so frail.

"We are going to have a baby, Edward."

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_**Dear, dear readers,**_

_**Last fortnight FF dot net crashed every time I tried to respond to reviews. Many other authors overcame this difficulty, apparently without breaking a sweat. But I have a family plagued by ill-health and disability, a ridiculously consuming job (given the pittance they pay me!), and this chapter made giving birth feel like a relaxing alternative pastime.**_

_**Some of you wrote beautiful things, and the guilt of not having responded to all of you is eating me up. The sonnet Lordward sent to Bella is for you. I have a crazy busy couple of weeks coming up, so I may have to include another poem next fortnight. Please forgive me – I read and love every single review, PM, picture and tweet you send my way. Even that kinda rude one about writing in the present tense, which cracks me up.**_

_**Perry, I miss you. Cared, you did a fabulous job, picking up some real corkers this week. MM, this chapter you were your alter-ego, SCB, but I love you even more for it. To rile my SCB up this week, I have included a line that he despises. Prize awarded to the reader who can guess what it is.**_

_**Love you all,**_

_**Gingerandgreen**_


	16. Chapter 15

_**I love the freedom we have right now to share our stories however we wish. I'm thankful that Stephenie Meyer shared her story in print, then allowed us all to read and write tales based on hers. I treasure that generosity of spirit, and believe that it pervades throughout this fandom, and now, beyond it, even as far as the New York Times bestseller list. We rock. We are beautiful.**_

_**Fifteen years ago, when **__**I**____**was pregnant with Youngest, my neighbour was pregnant too. **__**I**____**felt awful – my mornin**__**g sickness continued relentlessly throughout the day. But my neighbour had a condition called **__**hyperemesis gravidarum, which is a form of morning sick**__**ness so severe it is life threatening. It turns out it doesn't take a vampire-**__**hybrid to turn you into a walking skeleton with a bump. **__**(Really **__**–**__** BD1 was not far from the truth). **__**My neighbour spent much of her pregnancy in hospital on a drip.**__** The birth was induced early, and although we were honestly concerned about her survival, both baby and mum lived to**__** tell the tale.**__** In 1795, there are no drips; there are **__**no hospitals **__**as we would understand them**__**; there is no way t**__**o induce an early birt**__**h; and even a healthy pregnancy is life-threa**__**tening. **__**The sad thing is that you don't have to travel back in time to witness the same conditions today**__** – you only need take a short trip around the globe. So this chapter is dedicated to the women and children who have been lost due to preventable comp**__**lications in pregnancy and childbirth.**____**That is the true meaning of tragedy.**_

_**To put your minds at re**__**st, **__**I**____**would like to remind you that this is Twilight fanfiction. Of course there's a Happ**__**ily Ever After. **_

_**This chapter has been beta'd! Which makes me very happy! But all mistakes are mine.**__** [**__**I**____**decided that beta'd was the most logical spelling, no thanks to you lot.]**_

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**Chapter****15**** – To Love and To Cherish**

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_13__th__ June 1795_

Through the fog of my sleep, I hear Bella and Rose speaking, but my body is entirely too tired to respond. Every muscle has shut down in protest at my punishing journey. The last act I recall is lying beside my beautiful wife, with my large hand across her small, warm torso.

"_I tried to remove his boots myself, but I became too ill. The movement made me sick. Can you do it, Rosalie?"_

"_Was it the movement or the smell that made you sick? My husband stank worse than a street urchin. I made him wash before I allowed him to rest. Do you think I was too forward, Bella? Ugh, these are tight..."_

I think I must be dreaming. I cannot feel my boots at all, let alone Rose attempting to remove them.

"_Shall I ring for Samuels? But he will expect me to leave the room, and I do not wish to part from him... Oh Rose, look at him, he is exhausted and dirty, and still so very beautiful...He drove himself like this for _me_, Rosalie!"_

Bella's voice in my dream is low and soft. I could lie here and listen to her for hours.

"_He _is_ beautiful, especially in his sleep. He loves you, Sweetheart. Anyone can see it. And you deserve his love, Bella. I told you before, did I not? We all make mistakes. Em assured me that Edward is not angry with you, so give him the respect he deserves. Ugh! My goodness, his feet smell just as strong as my husband's. Does it make you ill, Dear?"_

"_No, but perhaps you could open a window? Thank you, Rose. And could you pass me the rug to cover him with? There, he will be more comfortable now."_

My dream wife is as sweet and caring as my real one. I smile contentedly. I am so happy to have her scent around me again. I am certain my feet do not actually smell bad. Surely if I can smell Bella, I would be able to recognise my own foul odour, were it present at all?

"_You lie back too, Bella. You poor thing, I have never been as sick as you are. Do you need anything? More tea? Another oat cake? There, don't cry, Sweetheart. You have your beautiful husband back to take care of you now; he only needs to sleep a little first... Oh Bella! What's wrong? Will you tell me?"_

"_Rose, I am so frightened... I want to give Edward a child, more than anything – it is the best news, the most wonderful, precious gift I can give him. But I did not know I could be so ill, Rose, and the physician's warnings... I am just a little scared. I do not want Edward to know how frightened I am. Hold me, Rose – if I cry now, I can be strong again when he awakes."_

No, dream Bella! I cannot bear you to cry... I wish I could rouse myself to comfort her. I feel paralysed in my stupor. No part of my body will respond to my instructions. I want to change my dream, but I do not appear to feature in it at all...

"_Now, Bella, listen to me. Look me in the eye and take heed. You were always the wise one, but this is something I learned at the beginning of my marriage, and I cannot believe after all you have been through, that you have not learned this lesson yourself. Are you paying attention?"_

"_Yes." _

My poor, sweet, dream wife sniffs and hiccups a little before her sister continues in a resolute tone.

"_Good. You must keep no more secrets from your husband. He is your guide in this life and your strength, and you have vowed to honour and obey him. If you are frightened, he needs to know. He cannot support you if you do not confide in him. You _must_ give him that respect. Understand?"_

Dream Rose sounds so sure and firm. I hope I can live up to her expectations. I agree with her completely. I must give credit where it is due, and my imaginary sister sounds very wise. Bella and I have to stop hiding our emotions from one another; it is as simple as breathing.

"_Yes. Yes, Rose. You are right to chastise me. It is strange to me to struggle in this way. I was nervous before we married, you know I was; but I must have believed I would play my part as wife and mother well, or I would not be so disappointed in myself right now."_

Disappointed? Why would my dream wife be disappointed in herself? If I cannot rouse myself to comfort my real wife, I must change my dream or languish in misery. I drift ever deeper into sleep and am not disturbed by my imagination, or anything else, until much later.

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"Bella? My Love, are you all right?"

She clearly is not. I awake in the light evening air to the sound of my wife vomiting into a bowl. She shudders and moans, shakes her head, but does not draw her face away from the bowl.

I stroke her back feeling helpless and useless. "Should I ring for someone? Who shall I call?"

I do not think Bella can speak. She only nods her head. I ring the bell for Mrs C, not knowing what the set-up has been during Alice's absence. Of course, whatever happens, we will have to procure a new lady's maid for Bella – Alice can never return to her former duties. This is not a task I feel equal to dealing with immediately.

A soft knock at the door heralds Rose, who is surprised to find me awake.

"I am sorry, I did not mean to disturb you," she says, nervously entering the room and setting a tray down nearby. "I knew my sister would be ill again by now, so I brought her some tea." She leans down to whisper in her sister's ear as she strokes Bella's wayward hair away from her face.

Bella shakes her head at Rose and does not move from her position. Before long, her chest begins to heave again, though little is achieved by the shuddering waves.

"For the love of God, Rose, tell me what to do," I mutter through gritted teeth.

Rose looks at me with sympathy. "It will pass, Edward. Perhaps you could wash and change, and when you are done, Bella will feel a little better?"

I feel like a small child, banished from adult company, but I do not sulk or dwell on it. I do need to wash; it is true. I lean down and kiss Bella's shaking shoulder. "I will be back very soon, my Love. Your sister will take better care of you than I can."

Bella does not respond, but Rosalie looks at me kindly. Mrs Clearwater pokes her head around the still open bedroom door.

"You rang, my Lord? Oh deary me, poor love." She bustles into the room, opening windows, and rearranging pillows. I am distracted from watching her by Samuels at the door. My bedroom begins to feel like a coaching inn.

"What brought _you_ here, Samuels?" I snap at him. I want to wish them all away, I truly do.

"I apologise, my Lord. I heard you were up and wondered whether there was anything I could do?"

I look at my butler curiously. It is not at all like him to hover. His expression remains impassive, but I see concern in his frequent glances towards my – thankfully fully covered – wife.

I place my hand on his shoulder and lead him out of the room. "Come, find me a place to wash and some clothes to change into without disturbing the ladies." As soon as we are out of earshot of the others, I turn him with the hand still strategically placed and look carefully into my loyal servant's eyes. He will not conceal the truth from me. "Tell me, Samuels, just how ill has my wife been?"

He clears his throat and looks down at his highly polished shoes. "It was a difficult journey, my Lord. Lady Masen has been very brave."

He looks back up at me again. Bravery is high praise indeed from this ex-soldier. "I am glad you are here, Sir. I considered the journey unwise, but my Lady was not to be dissuaded from it. Even your young groom advised that we turn around, but... Well, Sir, you are here now, and all will be well." He clears his throat and continues softly, "May I convey my congratulations, my Lord?"

I smile over my worry. "Thank you, Samuels." I hope he knows I am not merely thanking him for the sentiment.

He nods. "Hot water, Sir?"

Oh, it will be good to scrub my aching thighs and backside in a hot tub.

"Yes, and make certain that I am not disturbed, Samuels. Not by anyone! Oh – unless it is with a message from my wife..."

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The summer's evening air wafting into our bedroom is fresh and fragrant with the wisteria from the wall below the window.

Bella has managed a little food and some tea and is resting in a clean nightgown against a large pillow I have not seen before. She notices my curiosity.

"The pillow belonged to your mother, Edward. I hope you do not mind – Mrs Clearwater brought it here for me. She tells me the down is mixed with dried lavender and rose petals, which she refreshed for me today – it smells nice, here."

She takes my hand gently in hers and pulls me down to her, so that I can bury my nose in her backrest.

"It does smell quite nice. But I would rather smell you." I turn my face into her neck, exaggerating my sniffing somewhat but drinking in her scent all the same. It makes her giggle.

"It is unbelievably satisfying to nuzzle your bare skin. I have been so deprived of you these last few days."

Bella's laughter falters at the mention of our time apart. I pull back, only to cup her beautiful face between my large, rough hands. She feels so soft and delicate between them.

"Bella, Angel," I whisper to her as she gazes earnestly back at me. "I am so very sorry for how I wronged you. Can you forgive me?"

Her brow furrows a little. "Forgive you for what, my Lord?"

Her use of my title stings somewhat, but I deserve no less. I pull away from her slightly but keep hold of her face. She has a tendency to hide from me, otherwise. I stroke her skin with my thumbs, one on each smooth cheek.

"Will you listen to what I have to say?"

"Of course I will, Edward."

It is difficult for her to speak over long, I have gathered this much since my return. Everything makes her ill: exertion of any kind, speech, hunger, food, opening her mouth too wide, cleaning her teeth upon waking. We have barely kissed for fear of triggering her nausea.

"I have many things to say to you, but they have flown my mind now that I have you in my hands."

Bella smiles at me tentatively. Her emotions are often writ large in her expressive eyes, and right now, they tell of love, concern, and trepidation in equal measure. At least, this is what I mark there. I could be wrong. I take a brief, sweet kiss from her slightly parted lips.

"I am sorry for running from you when you needed me most." I lean down again to press a kiss upon her forehead, punctuating my sincerity with the action.

Her eyes close and open again. They glisten slightly with unshed tears.

I continue my apology. "I am sorry I was angry with you because my anger was not entirely warranted. I grant you, I remain displeased at your hiding things from me, and I expect you to learn from your mistakes as I have learned from mine."

She nods at me vigorously, her hair rubbing between my hands where I clasp her head; but she presses her lips tightly closed.

"I hid things from you too, Bella. I meant to tell you the whole story about James and Victoria, and why we could never befriend them again, but other matters took precedence. I meant to save you pain, but instead, I placed you in the gravest danger. I will endeavour never to keep secrets from you again."

I kiss her forehead once more and rub my nose along the length of hers. She is so very beautiful.

"Bella, I understand that you left London believing that it was my wish that you do so, but I was dismayed to find you had left before we could talk. I would like to impose a rule upon us both – that we never part from one another in anger again. Do you agree?"

"Yes," is her relieved, whispered response. My heart constricts. I force the thoughts of what could have been away. My wife lives; she is not well, but she is whole; she bears our child.

She bears our child.

I do not know why this moment is the one in which the full impact of her pregnant state imposes itself on my spirit, but now that it has, I cease to breathe.

Will this delicate creature, who is so precious to me, survive her confinement?

Will our child live to grow and play and tease us with Bella's eyes and my unruly hair?

I crush my wife to my chest and screw my eyes tight against the images that flood my mind. Images of loss and emptiness vie with those of hope and joy. I did not know it would be like this.

How could I have known? My own parents did not survive long enough to tell me. Suddenly I miss my mother in the same achingly, sickening way I did when I was seven years old.

My mother did not survive the birth of Jasper. Or not for very long – she was too weak to nurse him, I recall my father saying.

My wife feels like a bird in my arms. I could crush her bones with one arm. How will she survive the birth of a child? I have rarely seen anyone so ill – how will she survive her pregnancy?

She begins to wriggle and push away from my embrace. I release her, and she sits up and looks at me determinedly.

"Edward, I wish to say something – to apologise too."

"There is no need, my love."

"There is – I have listened to you, will you hear me?"

I feel chastened. "Yes, Bella. I am listening."

"I know that I betrayed your trust, and I am deeply, deeply sorry for it. But there is another way I betrayed you, Edward, and I mean to confess it." She breathes shallowly, her lips trembling, and I see the effort she makes to not succumb to sickness.

"Hush, Sweetheart, hush now. We have time. I will not leave your side for a moment."

She nods and sighs. Her forehead drops to my chest, and her hands clasp around her belly.

I do not really care to hear her confession; it does not signify. I only wish to hold her in my arms forever more. It will take a monumental catastrophe to remove me from her side for the foreseeable future.

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_15__th__ June 1795_

I can take it no longer. The helpless feeling that envelopes me as I watch my wife - on hands and knees leaning over the chamber pot as she expels the meagre breakfast she attempted to eat - thwarts my resolve.

I am a man. I have to act. The urge to do so lives deep within my very nature.

I dress hurriedly and ring for the maid.

As soon as Bella's insides have ceased their attempt to vacate her body, I lift her gently from the floor and place her on the bed. I stroke her hair away from her face and kiss her cheek. It is less plump, less luscious than before, but her beauty still stirs my soul.

She smiles at me. "Are you going out?"

"I am sorry. I have to. Do you mind?"

"I am glad. Will you bring me something from the garden? I miss the sunshine."

"Anything. Whatever your heart desires, it is yours."

"Will you bring me a flower?"

"I will bring you a garden-full of flowers. And I will send you Rose; she is a sweet flower indeed."

Bella laughs. "Yes, she is. Thank you, Edward. I do not know what I did to deserve you, but you are the best husband a woman could ask for."

Her words fill me with quiet happiness and hard pain; I wish to deserve them, but I think my wife is biased in her assessment of me. After all, what example does she have to compare me to?

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Business and Estate work occupy my mind for all of two hours. There is a great deal more to do, but I cannot keep my attention on it. I have to do something for Bella, so a trip into Forbrigg is called for.

I ride first to the physician's house on the outskirts of Forbrigg. He is in his study, ignoring the rare, bright sunshine in favour of dusty books and journals.

"Ah, young Lord Masen, what can I do for you? How is your lovely wife?"

"Very sick. Too sick. She cannot keep a morsel down, and she is fading away daily. I can hardly bear it. Please, tell me what to do for her."

"There is not a lot you _can_ do for her, young man. You have played your part already. You can merely watch and pray."

"My prayers do not put meat on her bones! There must be something more."

The old man smiles at me. "You are so like your father. Young men rail against God's will, but it changes nothing. Feed your wife whatever she will eat; ensure she rests; and cause her no anxiety. Either she will survive, or she will not. Oh, did you know there was mention of you and your family in the newspaper?" He scrabbles around on his desk for the sheet of paper he is looking for, though I have expressed absolutely no interest in reading that petty gossip.

I close my eyes and breathe carefully through my nose. One hand reaches up to pinch the pain between my brows, while the other clenches hard in my lap.

When my fury is under control, I open my mouth to respond, but a young lady I do not recogniseinterrupts us.

Crowley and I stand as she enters the room.

"I beg your pardon, Sirs, I did not mean to interrupt, but I wondered whether you required refreshments?" She speaks haltingly, apparently nervous, but appraises me with large eyes and open interest.

"Ah, Miss Lauren, this here is the Lord of our neck of the woods, Lord Masen. Say good day to him, dear. He is here to enquire about the health of his new _wife_."

The girl flushes at the emphasis on the word wife - and at the physician's tone, I daresay, which is one of admonishment and warning. The doctor turns back to address me as though she is no longer present.

"Angelina is my late wife's niece, Lord Masen. She has come here to take care of me, now that Constance has left for pleasanter shores. If she proves valuable, I might be persuaded to remarry." He winks at me. The age difference between them must be forty years, at least. I would be surprised if the old man still had it in him to _take_ a wife, in the literal sense.

"Well, much as I would love to stay and pass the time, I have a great deal to occupy me, so if you will forgive me." I bow briefly to Dr Crowley and his unfortunate niece and move to the door.

"You could ask that old witch in Stone Cottage if she has any potions for the sickness, I suppose."

He means Mrs Tyler. "Doctor Crowley, we do not refer to honest women as witches. Not in my parish. You will please remember that."

I vividly recall the incident from my childhood when village boys were caught stoning a woman who had been referred to as a witch by eminent members of local society. The recollection makes me shudder.

Crowley completely ignores my warning and the anger in my voice as he ushers me out of the house.

"Call on me when you need me, my Lord, night or day."

As I stride back to my mount and climb stiffly into the saddle, I have to ask myself: do I really want this man anywhere near my wife when she gives birth? The thought of his hands on her vulnerable body makes me shudder.

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It is laundry day at Stone Cottage. Through the herb garden and the tall hollyhocks that dwarf it, I see flapping sheets and linens and hear the laughter of little girls.

Six or seven little tearaways in pinafore dresses and bare feet appear to be playing a game of hide and seek in amongst the washing. Mrs Tyler ignores them as she attends to more important tasks in her lovely garden. I must remember to take flowers back to Bella. She would love to see this romantic scene, I will describe it to her in detail.

I hail the midwife from the gate, not wishing to intrude. Mrs Tyler waddles down the garden path to speak to me. She is lame in one foot, a club foot I think it is. It does not bother her in the slightest, which is perhaps one of the reasons many of the older generation are suspicious of her.

That and her remedies for womanly ailments, or so I have heard.

"A fine day it is, Lord Masen, a fine day. Have you come to enquire about the condition of your new wife?"

"Word travels fast around here, Mrs Tyler."

"That it does! Well, Sir, what can I do for you? Would you like to come in?"

Mrs Tyler is much more sympathetic to Bella's plight but has little to offer in the way of a remedy. Her advice is annoyingly similar to the physician's.

"Is there truly nothing you can do for me – for Lady Masen?" I ask, desperation tightening my throat until I can barely speak. The midwife has been careful to explain the likelihood of Bella's survival, which is very low indeed. She thinks it is my heir I am truly concerned about, as perhaps most men in my position would be.

"Short of giving you a draught to end the babby's life? No, Sir. You will have to grin and bear it, I am afraid. As will she." Mrs Tyler's wink is not nearly as offensive as my previous host's.

For one terrifying minute, I contemplate purchasing a poison for the creature that is sucking the very life out of my beautiful wife. I imagine slipping it into her food or wine, hoping she fails to notice, just like a lord in one of those gothic novels that are lately so popular.

In the next second, I imagine knocking on the gates of heaven, asking to gain admittance to the after-life with my spouse. Would my maker and reckoner allow me entrance, after stealing my own child's soul away from life? Perhaps not. The sheer agony of an eternity without my wife – no. I will not travel that path.

"Of course, if she is as ill as they say your own dear mother was – well, a draught like that could kill the woman as well as the child," says the midwife cheerily, as though it were no great matter.

That is decided then. I will not put my wife in any more danger than I have already.

Not that the option was ever truly in question. I want to scrub my head clean of the foul thoughts.

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Our bedroom is awash in flowers. Exhausted from a day of severe vomiting, Bella does not rouse as they are arranged around the room.

I sit beside her and gaze at her lovely face as she sleeps. Though thin and pale, the peaceful smile upon her lips makes my wife's beauty glow from within. I am aware of how sentimental I sound, but I cannot seem to help myself.

Eventually, the growling in her stomach becomes loud enough to awaken her. She opens her eyes, and they focus immediately upon me.

"Good evening, my Love. Here, I have something for you that may help. Open your mouth."

She obeys me immediately. I push a peppermint bonbon between her dry lips, running my fingers along their surface. Her tongue pokes out to trace their path.

"Mmm, this tastes good. What is it?"

"A sweet that the local midwife suggested. She says that part of the problem you face is the build up of unusual amounts of ill-tasting saliva in your mouth. Is that true?"

My wife blushes and nods. "Sometimes my mouth is flooded with the strange taste."

"These bonbons may help to control it - or at least they will change the flavour. I have aniseed sweets as well. Now, are you hungry?"

"Yes, but I cannot eat too much. It is as though there is only a tiny space inside of me for food."

"I know – so it is important that you eat what you most desire. Here, is there anything on this tray that appeals to you?"

Mrs C and cook have put together a tiny feast of morsels fit to tempt a queen. There is smoked trout, candied figs, jellied eel, poached chicken, lemon syllabub, rosehip fool, quail's eggs, and tiny bowls of scented broth. Bella reaches for a simple dish of buttered eggs.

"Do you know what I would really, truly like to eat, Edward?"

"No my love, but if you name it, it is yours."

She smiles at me radiantly. "Carrots. I want carrots more than anything on Earth. And potatoes. Creamed potatoes, roast potatoes, potatoes baked in a fire with melted butter...Oh please, Edward, please will you find me some carrots and potatoes?"

She looks at me so earnestly, so beseechingly, I cannot help myself. I erupt in a bellyful of laughter.

"Carrots and potatoes we can do, my Princess. Famed as we are for our vegetables, Norfolk is clearly the right place for you."

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_17__th__ June 1795_

Bella's nausea appears to be slightly more manageable today. She has only been sick four or five times. I have carried her into the garden with a number of bowls and buckets and soft pillows to lie upon, so that she can enjoy the sunshine with Em and Rose.

We picnic on the lawn. Bella has inhaled a bowl of leek and potato soup and is picking delicately at a tureen of roast carrots and onions. The rest of us tuck heartily into veal, pork, and accompaniments.

I have brought a large pile of post out with me so that I do not have to leave my family's side. In amongst the numerous letters from acquaintances – all commenting on my family's recent notoriety in the papers and gossip-parlours of the high society set – there are three letters of note.

The first is from my lawyer.

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15th June 1795

My Esteemed Lord,

I write to you with news of the contents of Sir James Hunter-Buttsgrove's will. In addition, I have received word from our Friend in the Convent in Dorset.

First, the will. It will possibly surprise you to know that you were named in Sir Hunter-Buttsgrove's testament. As he has no heirs, he appears to have bequeathed his estate to friends and family. I enclose a copy of the deeds to a plantation in St Lucia, an island in the Caribbean Sea. It is a large and profitable estate. I await your instructions.

Secondly, the report. Our Friend has ascertained that a visit was made to the convent somewhat recently by Mr Black. He met with the Father who deals with their pastoral needs, and one of the elder nuns was also summoned to meet with him. It is not known what passed between them, but it is rumoured that a letter that was held in safe-keeping by the nun was destroyed, despite her protests. The nun in question has been in solitary reflection ever since, but apparently the act of destruction was witnessed by a young maid. The letter was burned.

I am afraid that is the extent of the report so far. I will, of course, keep you updated as more information comes in.

Your humble servant,

J Jenks Esq

Post script: News has just reached me of the suicide of Lady Victoria Hunter-Buttsgrove. Apparently she was found hanging by means of her own stocking. It is with deep regret and sorrow that I inform you of this news, but consider, my Lord, that you no longer need fear a summons to court for her trial.

_Jason Jenks_

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"What is wrong, Edward? Is it bad news? You look very ill." Bella reaches out to stroke my cheek, and I clasp her hand to my face. I realise there is much I have not yet discussed with her, but I hand her Jenks' letter and indicate with my eyes that she is to read it.

While she does, I skim over the documents that accompany the property in St Lucia. This is unexpected indeed.

"There is much here that I do not understand, my Husband." My wife wishes to remind me of our agreement about secrets and honesty.

She has the right.

"I know, Bella. I will explain it all – well, as much as I can. In truth, there are many things I do not understand myself. Let me finish reading my post, then we will talk."

She smiles trustingly at me and settles back down to catch the sun.

The second letter that retains more than a passing interest is a brief missive from my brother.

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16th June 1795

Dear Edward,

Alice and I do not fare so well in London without you. The staff here is proving hard to manage without your leadership, and the gossip in the Town is not helping. We have made the decision to return to Forbrigg forthwith. Jacob has hired a carriage, so we will be home ere long. Alice is terribly concerned that neither Bella nor Rose have written to her. She – we are both, in fact, highly concerned about my sister's health. All being well, we will be with you by Friday.

With respect,

Jasper

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"Did none of us think to write to Jasper or Alice?" I ask in horror. A chorus of dismayed exclamations confirms what Jasper has reported himself.

Bella and Rose are upset.

"Alice does not know about the baby?" Rosalie gasps.

"Alice thinks I am knocking on death's door!" Bella wails.

Em and I look at each other in consternation.

"Is that a letter from Jasper? What does he say?" Em asks, reaching out for the paper in my hand.

"Read it aloud." I give it to him, and the ladies quieten to listen. As he reaches the last word, Bella sits up suddenly, grasping blindly for her bowl.

"I am so sorry, excuse me." She can barely get the words out before the soup and carrots regurgitate into the pudding bowl on her lap.

Bella's hair is pulled back into her sun bonnet, so all I can do for her is caress her back as soothingly as I am able.

Em pulls Rose to her feet, and they leave us be. He cannot stomach the sickness, I know. I would have been the same if it weren't the mother of my unborn child and the love of my life who was in need.

Finally, she relaxes against me. I set the bowl down and lift my wife in my arms to carry her back inside. She has become so slight. She rests her head lovingly against my shoulder.

We pass a couple of the kitchen children, posted to wait for us should we require anything. I nod my head towards the picnic, and they race to clear it up. I do not even want to think about the poor sod who has to clean up the vomit-filled bowl.

I do not believe I will ever eat leek and potato soup again. My poor, dear wife.

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It is late evening when I finally open the last of the important letters. This one has the Markham seal on the back – if I am not mistaken, it is the name of the lady Em and I rescued on our way home to our wives.

I am intrigued as to what she has to say. Several pages of closely written parchment unfold in my hands.

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15th June 1795

Lord Edward Masen and Mr Emanuel Cullen, otherwise known as Dashing Heroes,

Please forgive my intrusion once more into your exciting lives. I wish firstly to thank you with all my heart, for if you had not come by and acted so bravely, I would surely be dead by now. I will forever be in your debt, as will my husband, who will write to thank you separately.

You may be pleased to hear that I reached London safely and rejoined my family without much fuss. I am not one to glory in my troubles, and would have kept my sorry tale within the confines of my home but for my wish to spread the news of your bravery, heroism, and valour. With this aim in mind, I went into society to tell all what adventures befell us. Imagine, then, my surprise to hear that all of London was already in uproar about your good selves. Rumours abound about opium, kidnappings, murder most foul, and even sexual shenanigans. I feel as though I have stumbled into my very own novel! If half of the things that are being said about you are true, you lead exciting lives indeed.

Now, it was not my intention to wax lyrical about scandal and gossip. It is all poppycock, except for the part about saving me, and I believe I have vouchsafed your characters by my descriptions of your rescue.

However, having read and heard so much about you, I now realise that we do have a connection. Before I became Mrs Markham, I was Miss Embry, born and raised in the fair County of Dorset – not too far away from the old family of gentlemen named Black, you understand. I was a frequent visitor to the very estate that your father-in-law lived upon, and I met him on several occasions. Mr Black senior I recall as a sour old gentleman, but he cannot have been that old, for I believe he still lives. He was very disapproving of his son and the racy set we were all a part of. We were quite badly behaved; I am now ashamed to admit. If my own children behaved so, their father would never let them out into society – but I digress, as I am wont to do.

I clearly recall a great scandal that was hushed up at the time but never did sit comfortably with me. There were two very young girls in the set, who often came out with us because their parents could not tolerate them at home. One was Genevieve, a baron's daughter, and somehow – I do not recall how – she ended up with your father-in-law and must now be the mother of your brides.

The other girl - Sarah Swan was her name – she died in mysterious circumstances. She would have been aunt to your wives. My goodness, Swan came up in the world, did he not? I remember Sarah as an annoying little girl, and her brother was beastly to her. Black used to protect her from his friend, but he had an awful manner about him, and I think she was more frightened of Black than of her own brother. She was always snivelling. We were very sad when she died, and the group broke up round about then. I met my husband, and that was that. We did not stay in touch with one another.

I am certain that you would not want any further connections with scandal revealed, so I will keep this tale to myself and to your good selves. I do not even recall why I set out to tell you about it, except that I was excited by the connection.

As I said, my husband will write to you shortly, I expect he will wish to reward you in some way, but that is business, and I will keep my nose out of it. Did you read the write up in the newspapers about your heroic rescue? I have clipped several reports but wish to keep them myself. I could copy them out for you if you wish, do let me know. If there is ever anything I can do for you, I am at your service, Gentlemen.

Yours in eternal servitude,

Mrs Gloria Markham

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I search the house for Em with excitement coursing through my veins, but when I locate him I know he cannot be disturbed. The lucky bastard is in his room with his healthily pregnant wife.

I am ashamed of it, but I stand outside their door for a few minutes and listen to the contented sounds of their lovemaking.

Then I return to my own room and make myself ready for bed. Bella is fast asleep but looks as though she has been restless. Her nightgown is ruched up around her legs, and the laces at her neck are unfastened. It is a hot and sultry night. The sheets are pushed away, and I stare at her parted legs for a long time.

She shifts again, and her gown twists beneath her. One of her breasts is exposed. The nipple has changed colour; it is a deeper pink than I remember. It is fuller, too, though the breast itself may be smaller.

I ache to take that deep pink nipple into my mouth and suck it. Hard.

Instead, I blow out the lamp and roll on to my back, willing my cock to deflate.

If I ever have sex again, I will savour every single moment.

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_**The line that SCB hated last fortnight? It was the one about the grandfather clock ticking infinitely, blah,blah, blah. Apparently the 'mis-use' of the word 'infinite' was unforgivable; he didn't like the grandfather clock because they had only just been invented; and he called the whole 'purple prose'. Bless him. None of you figured it out.**_

_**This week he is back to being MM, and I dedicate the end of the chapter to him, because I wrote it for him. He says I 'nailed it'. :D**_

_**I'm so happy to have Perry back as my Beta, and Cared has been magnificent in her help and support as always.**_

_**I wish I had time to post a blog for you, with all the beautiful banners you have made, and Cared's inspired picteases. I would put my favourite reviews on there, and discuss parts of the story, give historical details... you name it. But that's a dream. Just know I am so very grateful to you all. Nearly every day at least one person 'favourites' my story, and every time you do, a fairy is born in my heart. :D :D :D**_

_**I promised you a poem for being bad at review replies. This one is about London at the time PTMT was written. Rather than post it here (it is very long and liable to get messed up) please go to the link below, first taking out the spaces:**_

_**www . poemhunter . com/poem/london-9/**_

_**I'm Gingerandgreen on Twitter. Say hi. What else have I forgotten?**_


	17. Chapter 16  Courage and Cowardice

_**Gentle readers, there comes a time in every fanfic author's WiP when she is forced to apologise for the intrusion of RL upon her posting s****chedule. This is mine.**_

_**I****am a little ****overwhelmed by the pressures of RL, so have taken the wise advice of Cared and Perry, and offer you the outtake ****I****wrote for Fandoms for ME whi****le ****I****regroup. This is unfair to my most loyal readers, who have read this already; but ****I****know they will understand, because they are so lovely.**** It is a good time to revisit Bella's childhood anyway.**_

_**This **__**is **__**a **__**series**__** of**__** 10 **__**vignettes **__**written **__**from**__** Bella's **__**POV.**__** They **__**range **__**in **__**time **__**from**__** when Bella is**__** 12**__** (in **__**17**__**8**__**5) **__**to **__**the **__**consummation **__**of**__** her **__**marriage**__** (in**__**1795).**_

**_Thank you Stephenie Meyer; Cared, Perry and MM; and all of my readers__, __i.e.__ you__._**

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**Chapter****1****6**** – ****Courage and Cowardice**

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_**1. **__**I**__**n **__**which **__**Isabella **__**listens**__** at**__** a**__** door **__**and**__** wishes**__** she **__**had **__**not.**_

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_12__th __December__ 17__8__5_

"Go on children; it is not common for the sun to shine in December. Go and ask your father for coins to spend in the village. You can find him something nice for Christmas."

Rosalie shakes her head, folds her arms, and turns her back on Miss Greene. This new, _new_ governess thinks my sister awkward and stubborn, I can tell. Miss Greene is nicer than the _new_ governess was. I wish she would stay.

"I will," I say.

"No, Bella, you cannot. Don't sister; don't do it." Rose whirls around and grabs hold of the ribbons on my dress. If she pulls, they will tear. I am not good at sewing.

"It's all right, Rose. Mr Black is here. Father is kinder to me when Mr Black is here; you know he is."

"Miss Swan, let go of your sister's dress. Of course your father will be kind, Miss Isabella. Run along and ask him; the day will not last forever, you know."

Rosalie lets go of me and shrugs her shoulders. She looks a little frightened, but I am certain I will be safe. I walk quietly and calmly down the stairs with my head held high and my shoulders back, just as I have been taught. A lady breezes through the house like a breath of wind; only children make noise indoors.

Father's study door stands ajar. I can see Mr Black's polished boot and stocking – it is an unusual colour, I think his laundry girl made another mistake. Truth be told, I am a little nervous. I walk more slowly.

As I near the door, I hear my father pour a drink – this is not a good sign. When he drinks this early in the day, it is usually a Bad Day.

I decide to listen before I knock, just in case.

"... and you know it is a sin. What if something were to happen to one of them? Even you could not have their souls on your conscience, could you Charles," says Mr Black in his cold voice, the one that makes my back bone feel strange.

"Can you do it without revealing why it was not done sooner?" Father's voice sounds different, less certain than he usually is.

"I believe I can. We will do it privately, naturally. I will have to update the church records, of course, but I do not believe it would garner any interest. Just a small, rural affair. We can do it this evening, if you like."

"Yes, all right, the sooner the better I suppose. But what about godparents? Do we not need witnesses for a baptism?"

"Pish posh, man, it is not a wedding. I will stand as the children's godparent if you like. After all, Isabella belongs to me now."

A cold stone drops into the pit of my stomach. I slap a hand over my mouth to stop it from making a noise. _What__ does __he __mean?_

"Listen to me, Black." Father's voice is harder now, much more like himself. "You touch her inappropriately _once_ before you are married, and the deal is off; do you understand me?"

Are they talking about _me_?

"Yes, I understand you Charles. But she _is_ mine now. Isabella will take instruction from me, and listen to me, and obey _me_. Are we clear?"

"She is a good girl, William. Be kind to her, please. Wren needs her."

"You need not concern yourself, though I think your lectures on kindness are rather _extraordinary_, Swan. I think I understand how to be kind better than you do. How is Miss Greene working out?"

There is a strange buzzing in my ears, and I feel cold. I can no longer hear what Father and Mr Black talk about. I back slowly away. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I turn and climb them wearily, clinging onto the bannister as though it will support my whole self. The feeling I have is not unlike the sensation my first visit from my monthlies brought a few weeks ago. When I reach the top, I slide down to the floor, feeling as though I must rest before I do anything else.

"Miss Isabella? What are you doing? Stand up, girl, a lady would never sit in the dust and dirt!" Miss Greene's voice washes over me, but when Rose takes me in her arms, I feel safer.

"Sweetheart, what happened? Was he angry? Did he hurt you? Did he hurt Wren? You should not have gone. Tell me, please. Come on, come back into the schoolroom."

"Rose!" I whisper – I cannot bear Miss Greene to hear - "Rose, I am to belong to Mr Black! Mr Black is going to marry me and instruct me, and I am to belong to him! What does it mean, Rose? What does Father mean by it?"

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_**2. **__**I**__**n**__** which**__** Alice **__**is **__**introduced**__** to**__** the **__**Swan**__** household.**_

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_14__th __May __17__8__7_

"Rosalie Swan, what in hell's name do you think you are doing?"

"Father! You are back! Isabella, Father is home." As if I had not heard his affronted tone the first time – I have already hidden the novel I had been reading to Wren, smoothed out my skirts, and pushed my hair back into place. As far as I am able to, that is. Stupid hair. I haul my mother to her feet and chivvy her out of the fireside comfort and into the chill of the hall to greet him. She stands up straighter when she lays eyes on him.

Rose has not had a chance to hide her activity, obviously. I think she was pretending to dance – she is in her stockinged feet. No wonder Father sounds angry.

There is a very small girl hiding behind his large frame. We all try not to stare.

"Alice, come here and greet my family," he demands. The timid creature creeps around him and curtsies to us deeply. She does not look at us as she does so, which is her first mistake. Father cuffs her around the ear and tips her head up.

From the way she tries not to flinch, I think perhaps it is not her first mistake after all.

"This is my eldest daughter, Miss Rose Swan." He huffs, and Alice curtsies again, this time keeping her head firmly raised. "This is Miss Isabella Swan, my youngest daughter, whose maid you will be." I am startled by this news, Rosalie does not have a maid of her own; why should I? "And this is the lady of the house, who you will serve when Isabella is otherwise occupied. You will call her Madam, as she does not deserve a title." It is Alice's turn to look startled, but she curtsies regardless. My mother no longer reacts to Father insulting her in front of the servants; we believe it is a habit he has fallen into which he chooses not to break.

"Isabella, take Alice into the kitchen and ask that confounded woman who calls herself cook to feed the girl. Alice – look at me, child – this time you will eat the food you are given; do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir," she whispers.

"Rose – into my study. Wren, just get out of my way, woman, I cannot stand the sight of you."

Oh, he is like a whirlwind of bad humour, my father. Three days of peace and quiet as we have rarely known have shattered in an instant. I suppose Mr Black will return from London next. I sigh and gesture for the hapless little girl to follow me into the kitchen.

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Alice is little, this much is true; but in years, she is older than I am. She is uncertain of her exact age, though. She has been raised in a convent.

"Were the nuns cruel to you, Alice?" I ask as she prepares me for dinner. The vicar _is_ back from London after all. Father says Mr Black wishes to speak to me, so I must put on my finest dress and make my hair behave. I do not tell Alice, but I am frightened.

She knows, regardless.

"They were fairly kind, actually, Miss Isabella. They did not lock me in the dungeons to starve, or beat me incessantly, or frighten me with ghosts and ghouls, if that is what you are thinking." She squeezes my shoulders with her very small hands.

"Forgive me for asking Alice, but if they did not starve you, why are you so slight?" She cocks her head to one side and regards me in the looking glass.

"You are very brave, Miss Isabella. I am not so brave as you. When I am to eat, my courage often fails me." I do not understand her answer at all, but I thrive on the praise. I will need plenty of courage this afternoon, I am certain. I like Alice. I have no idea why she is here, but I am glad she is. Except that I suspect she would be safer if she had remained with the fairly kind nuns in the convent.

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Rose has been confined to her room without meals until further notice, and Wren sits mutely in her chair at the dining table, leaving me as the focus of two bad tempered men.

I would gladly exchange my destiny with Rose at this moment.

"Did you have a pleasant trip to London, Mr Black?"

"Yes, thank you. You learned all your lessons while I was away?"

"Yes, Mr Black. Would you like to hear about them now, Sir?"

"No, Miss Isabella, we have more interesting things to discuss. Your father tells me he has been away to fetch you a gift." Goodness, he sounds very angry. _A __gift?_I look to my father for assistance, but he only raises his bushy eyebrows at me. He looks coldly amused.

Father – as far as I am aware - went away to fetch Alice. Oh!

"Father has brought someone home to be my ..." I trail off, not certain how to describe her. But I know that if there is one thing Mr Black cannot abide in me, it is my uncertainty. "My maid. She is a lovely girl, very respectful and polite." I suddenly feel the need to protect Alice, although I am not sure from what. "I am exceedingly honoured and grateful?" Oh dear, I have made my statement sound like a question. Both Father _and_ Mr Black will be angry with me now.

"Tell Mr Black more about her, Isabella. Tell him her name and from whence she came." Father is goading his friend somehow, and he is using me to do it. It makes me so angry when he does this. I cannot help myself; I change mode and become a different person when I am angry. I become so calm and still, a tropical storm could not ruffle me, and I mock my elders with both my words and my tone. They have never noticed – Rose tells me I sound even sweeter when I am angry.

"Yes, Father. As you wish. Mr Black, the girl Father brought home to us today is called Alice. I do not know her surname yet. She lived in a convent, where the nuns were fairly kind. She will be very cheap to employ because she tends to lose her courage when faced with a plate of food. She is an excellent hairdresser, as you can see, but I am not certain how she acquired the skill, for in my understanding nuns do not require hairdressing. She..." I trail off once again. Something is very wrong. "Mr Black, are you all right? Can I fetch you some water? Here, drink some of your wine." I actually take his hand and squeeze it before pressing his glass into it; he looks so ill. My touch startles him, and before I can pull my hand away, he clasps it tightly.

"You brought her here?" he asks Father.

"Yes, Black, I did. Alice has come to live with us as Isabella's maid. After all, you said she needed someone to take care of her."

"That is not what I meant, and you know it." Mr Black hisses, still clasping my hand so firmly my fingers turn white.

"Do not be concerned, my friend. Her identity will remain concealed until you and Isabella marry."

"But I planned for us to get married in September!" I pull my hand out of his grasp immediately. _This_ September? No. Please, no.

"And _I_ told _you_ she is too young. She will barely be fifteen years of age in September – look at her, she is frightened of you." I am, it is true, but this is not something I wish to be brought to Mr Black's attention. He will use it against me.

"Wren was not much older, and she was much more frightened of you. Isabella need not fear me – you need not fear me, Isabella. I will take care of you, you know I will." I can only stare at him in horror. I thought I would have a few years yet in which to prepare myself.

"Wren was too damn young, Black, and that is half the problem!" Father shouts. My mother only sits, staring despondently at the food remaining on her plate. How old was she when they married?

"Your sister was younger," says Mr Black.

"Yes. My sister was younger. And look what happened to her. Look, my mind is made up. You will not marry Isabella until she is a fully grown adult, capable of withstanding – all of it. In fact, you will not marry Isabella until Rose is married. That is final. If you try to defy me, you know what I can do. I hold something over you now, William, and I will not hesitate to use it if I feel threatened in any way. The tables have turned, my friend. Wren, Isabella, dinner is over. Leave."

"Yes, Father." I have never been so happy to leave a room before. I leap up and help Wren from her chair. We do not turn around, even when we hear Mr Black's agonised growl and glass shatter against the wall.

).().().().().().().().().().().().(

_**3. I**__**n**__** which **__**Isabella,**__** Rose, **__**and**__** Alice **__**behave**__** as **__**normal **__**teenage**__** girls, **__**17**__**8**__**8-style.**_

_).().().().().().().().().().().().(_

_13__th__ September __17__8__8_

"It is just sitting there on Father's desk. In plain view. Please, Rose, it is my birthday; let me do this."

"No, Bella. You stay right here. Alice will keep a look out, and I will go in and take it. Do not argue with your elders, Bella! What would Mr Black have to say about that?"

"Rose!" I whine, "If you won't let me go, be quick. Be quick!"

"Hush. Come on Alice; it is now or never." They are so quiet, I cannot hear their progress at all. I bounce on the end of the bed, rubbing my thighs together nervously. Please don't let them be caught; I really would like to avoid trouble today.

They slide back in through the door to my and Rose's bedroom, and Alice slides the empty chamber pot in front of it. Not for the first time, I wish that Father would return our bedroom key. The pot will not prevent access, only delay it somewhat.

"Did you get it?" I ask. Rose nods, her eyes alight with mischief.

"Look! Here it is."

"Let me see too!" says Alice. All three of us crowd on to the bed. Rose sits in the centre with the likeness on her lap. We stare, entranced.

"Look at his chest! It looks so hard and firm."

"Well, it is made of marble, or some such," says Rose, tongue in cheek.

"I wish it was bigger. I am trying to see what he has down there, but it is so small," whispers Alice. I blush, my cheeks feel scalded – why does this happen to me and not my sisters?

I count Alice as my sister now. Even though she is older than I am, she is like the little sister I never had.

Rose traces the outline of the statue with her slim index finger.

"You just touched his bottom."

"Alice!" Rose and I whisper exclaim at once. She is so silly sometimes.

"Well, you did. I wish we could see his back properly, too."

"What is that around there? Is it supposed to be hair? Do men have hair down there too?" I peer closely at the image, but it is very difficult to make sense of the different parts.

"It is hard to tell, isn't it?" answers Rose.

"That lump underneath…that is his testes. I have seen a bull's testes in the kitchen on more than one occasion," says Alice. Rose and I both look at her, shocked.

"Have you?" whispers Rose.

"Yes." Alice looks proud of herself.

"I like his legs," I say. Alice and Rose peer at them closely.

"I like them too. They look very strong," says Rose.

"Very strong," Alice echoes.

"And his shoulders are nice too. He has a lot of muscles in his arms," I say.

Alice and Rose nod their agreement.

"His feet look very manly."

"They do," says Alice.

We fall silent, contemplating the image of David in front of us. How daring of Michelangelo, to sculpt him nude.

I have that squiggly, squirmy feeling I get down there sometimes when I know I have been disobedient. It is rather uncomfortable. Rose and Alice don't seem to be uncomfortable at all, so I do not mention it.

A door opens and closes downstairs. We all leap to our feet and look around frantically for a hiding place. There are none – every inch of our room is scrubbed on a regular basis. Any servant who finds this image would squeal to Father immediately.

Footsteps come up the stairs. Alice grabs the likeness from Rose's hands and stuffs it down the front of her dress. A corner peaks out, so I push it down with my cold fingers. Alice stifles a scream.

The footsteps turn at the top of the stairs and walk in the opposite direction. We sag with relief.

Rose looks at us with wide eyes. "Alice," she says, "you have a naked man pressed to your bosom."

Our jellied legs can barely hold us up, we laugh so much. We fall on to the bed, clutching our sides.

"I think we had better move that chamber pot," says Alice, "I have such a funny feeling, and I really want to pee."

).().().().().().().().().().().().(

_**4. I**__**n**__** which**__** Isabella **__**and**__** Edward **__**meet.**_

_).().().().().().().().().().().().(_

_5__th __January __1795_

"Rosalie, why are you making me walk all this way? You know Mr Cullen will be here soon enough. It is too cold for this much exercise!" I huff. There is still frost on the ground, and my feet are freezing.

"I am sorry, Bella, I truly am, but I could not sit still any longer. My legs disobey me when I know that Mr Cullen is going to visit. I cannot explain it. I want to run, not walk. Hah! If Father saw me run, he would burst a blood vessel. Walking very fast uphill is the best I can do."

"Well, why do I have to accompany you? Could Alice not go? Perhaps you could drag Wren out of doors and leave me in peace to learn my confounded lessons for once!"

"Goodness, Bella, you are in a bad humour. What is the matter?" We pause at the brow of the hill so that Rose can examine my features. I tolerate her inspection because I love her so, and I wish I did not feel angry with her, but I do. No. Not angry – resentful. Jealous and resentful. There. I have admitted it.

She has her glorious, dashing Mr Cullen, and as soon as they wed, I will have William Black.

I try to be happy for her, I truly do.

There is a sudden commotion, and two gentlemen on horseback come flying over the sty behind us, galloping past inches from where we stand. We freeze, and not because of the chill.

The gentlemen rein their horses in and turn to face us. One of them is Mr Cullen, of course. And the other is – well, the other, I think, is an angel come to earth. Rose and I remain speechless.

They dismount and stride towards us, as only hale young gentlemen can. The angel tries to say something, but he is drowned by Mr Cullen's over-enthusiastic greeting.

"Goddesses of the Manor!" he booms, "Did we frighten you?"

Mr Cullen's friend looks taken aback by the noise or the familiarity with which we are addressed. Mr Cullen makes his bow and kisses our hands as usual.

"Ladies, may I introduce my friend and second cousin? This is Lord Masen of Forbrigg, in Norfolk. You may have heard me mention him." He winks at me. "Edward, these here are the beauties I was telling you about. May I present Miss Swan._" _ He wiggles his eyebrows at me foolishly while Lord Masen greets my sister. He is a buffoon, but such a lovely one. I suppose this is the cousin he told me about last week.

"And this is her lovely sister, Miss Isabella Swan."

The copper-haired angel switches his attention to me, and for a brief moment in time, I am quite overcome.

His green eyes shine piercingly at me. I can barely breathe as they examine my face. My customary flush in moments of uncertainty burns my cheekbones, while his remain pale, and smoothly unaffected. He has missed a section of skin when shaving, and a few short, coppery hairs catch the sun on his hard jaw. I feel as though I have to resist the urge to reach up and stroke them, run my fingers along his manly profile, but in truth, my hand rests limply in his as he presses it to his lips. Oh, those lips – so full and soft looking, any woman would kill to own them, yet they are not feminine at all.

"Miss Swan," he murmurs, and I breathe back.

"Lord Masen."

).().().().().().().().().().().().(

_**5. I**__**n **__**which **__**Isabella,**__** frightened**__** by **__**the**__** very**__** public **__**behaviour**__** of**__** Mr**__** Black,**__** begs **__**to**__** be **__**taken **__**home **__**from **__**the**__** second**__** ball**__** she **__**has **__**ever **__**attended.**_

_).().().().().().().().().().().().(_

_14__th __January__ 1795_

"Father, please take me home. Mr Cullen will accompany Rose when she is ready, but I must leave now. Please, Father, I never ask you for anything, but I ask this of you." He stares at me angrily, as though I have let him down in some way, but I know he will do as I ask.

"Come on then," he snaps. He strides to the doorman to summon the carriage and have our outdoor wear presented to us. While we wait, I cannot help myself – my eyes seek out _his_ eyes of their own volition.

He stands near the punch table talking to Mr Cullen. Other people are around him, vying for his attention, but he ignores them as though they are nothing. We lock our gazes, and a small smile creeps up one corner of his mouth.

My anxiety recedes somewhat, and I feel the answering smile play at my lips. Father hands me my wrap, and I am distracted for a minute, but when I turn back around, he is still watching me. He doffs his imaginary hat, and I bob a tiny curtsey in response before turning and heading out into the cold rain.

Inside the coach, Father begins a lecture, the like of which I have never heard before.

"Isabella, listen to me very carefully, as I will only say this once. You have a chance, a very small chance of achieving happiness, and I want you to embrace it with all that you have. I have held Black off for longer than I thought possible, but he grows very impatient. You catch that young man any way you can. Use any means at your disposal, but get Lord Masen to propose to you before it is too late. Do we understand each other?"

_Do__ we?_

"No, Father, not at all. Forgive me, but I do not understand at all."

"Can I spell it out any clearer? You are supposed to be the intelligent one! Good God, child, you are a woman, are you not?"

"Yes, Father?" The hesitancy in my voice is bound to infuriate him, but I truly do not know what he expects. "Father, I thought you wanted me to marry Mr Black? I thought we were betrothed, and..."

"Want? No, girl, not at all. You will be miserable if that monster gets his filthy hands on you, but I cannot keep him away much longer. He is frightened of your young lord and will not cross him, even for you Isabella. Masen is your only chance, so get the man to propose before it is too late." He slaps his hands down upon his thighs as though the matter is now settled.

"_You_ are frightening me, Father. I do not know how to make a man propose! What do you suggest I do?"

"Trap him, flirt with him – you must know, Isabella. Do what comes naturally."

"I assure you, Sir, none of this comes naturally; and even if I did know how to trap him, as you say, I would never, ever do it." A horrid thought enters my mind through all the turmoil. "Is that what my mother did? Do you hate her because she trapped you, Father?"

He closes his bloodshot eyes and slumps down into his seat. "No, Isabella. No, your mother did not trap me; and I do not hate her."

"Do you not?"

He opens his eyes again and flashes them at me.

"No, I do not hate her. I am disappointed in her; disillusioned, but I do not hate her. Enough. Be quiet now and think on what I have said."

There is a stone in my throat the size of a bullfrog, and all I want to do is lay my head down and cry.

As if Lord Edward Masen would be interested in proposing to _me_.

).().().().().().().().().().().().(

_**6. I**__**n**__** which **__**a **__**rebuffed **__**and**__** unwelcome **__**Mr**__** Black**__** shows **__**his**__** cowardice**__** by **__**confronting**__** and**__** abusing**__** an**__** unprotected**__** young **__**lady.**_

_).().().().().().().().().().().().(_

_5__th __February__ 1795_

"_Isabella__ Swan, __get__ down__ here __this __instant. __If__ I __have __to __come __up __there __and __fetch __you, __you __will __be __sorry_." Black's cold voice reverberates around the house, and I am afraid.

"Who let him in, Alice?"

"I don't know Bella, but you must not go down there!"

"Well, what if he comes up here? He could hurt both of us. And Wren! Where is Wren? Do you think he knows that Father is away?" Alice nods, her teeth almost chattering against her lips. She is more afraid than I am. Strangely, this gives me courage.

"Listen, Alice, I will distract him, and you run as fast as you can down to the stables. Find whoever is working there today and send them to fetch Mr Cullen. Tell them it is urgent, that we fear for our lives." It takes three more minutes of persuasion, but when Mr Black begins rhythmically beating the banisters with his riding crop, she is more frightened of staying than of running away.

I call down the main stairs while Alice slips down the back ones. "Please, Sir, stop. I am coming down, but I do not want any trouble."

"Trouble, you say? No, Miss Isabella, there will be no trouble from me."

"Then I am on my way, Sir." I descend the stairs as slowly as I can. When I am in full view, I stop. Mr Black looks very much the worse for wear.

"Ah! There she is. The little witch herself. Do not look at me, you harlot. Keep your eyes down and stand here in front of me. I have things to say to you." I walk the rest of the way down the staircase and stand at his feet, looking down as he asked. His words slur together, and he smells unpleasant.

"Your bastard father could not keep me away from you forever, Isabella. I believe you have some things that belong to me, you thieving whore. Give them back."

_Good__ grief,__ I __would __not __keep __any thing __of __yours, __what __on __God's __earth __are __you__ talking__ about?_

"I truly apologise, Sir. Tell me what I have that belongs to you, and I will fetch it immediately."

He strikes me, hard. I stumble and fall.

"Oh my dear, I do apologise. Let me help you up." He reaches a hand down to me and grasps my arm, squeezing tightly. He lifts me half off the floor, then drops me again, forcefully.

Now I am angry. My fear dissipates. My words jumble as they emerge, but there is a force to my tone which even drunk Mr Black recognises.

"Do not you dare to touch me again, Sir. I may have fooled you all these years, but I am my father's daughter, and I inherited his temper, not my mother's. You will be sorry if you do me harm."

He laughs, but it is a nervous laugh, and he steps away from me. _I__ know __you __for __the__ coward __you __are, __Mr__ William __Black. _I rise and stand on the lower stairs so that the man loses his advantage in height.

"What do you think my fiancé will do to you when he hears of this, Mr Black?"

"He will never hear of this." He hisses at me, moving forward so that his stench surrounds me once more. "If your father crosses me again, he will be more sorry than Lot's wife! I have been and destroyed the evidence that points to me, you know. I will see to it that your father rots in prison before he hangs; you mark my words."

Now I am genuinely frightened again, but I work hard not to show it. Has he lost his mind? What evidence? What has he done? What has Father done?

"Just you wait until your father returns home!" He rubs his hands together with malice. "I know you are not permitted to correspond with anyone without your father's permission, Miss Isabella. I will be watching. You do not wish to see your father hang, do you?"

I muster all the disdain and disrespect I have bottled up over the years and use it to control my voice, which would undoubtedly shake otherwise. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr Black. When my father returns, and when you are sober, perhaps you would like to discuss the matter with him. In the meantime, please leave."

"No! Not without my purchases. Fetch me everything I ever gave you, Miss Isabella, right now!" I jump. I wrack my brain for the presents Mr Black has given me over the years.

"Please remain exactly where you are, Mr Black. I will give you every possession I have if it will make you leave."

It takes me an hour and a half to satisfy him. Eventually Alice conquers her fear and rejoins me. Mr Cullen and Rose have been out all day it seems, and could not come to my rescue. With Alice's help, we finally have quite a collection, leaving me nigh destitute.

The stable boy who was supposed to come to my rescue is made to help Mr Black carry everything away.

As soon as he leaves the premises, Alice collapses in my arms in tears. I hold her while she cries herself dry. Eventually she looks up at me and gasps.

"What now, Alice?"

"We need to put a poultice on your face, Bella."

I sigh.

"Is it so bad?"

"Does it not feel bad, Bella?"

"Now that I think about it, it does. I am glad my Lord is not here to see me."

"I believe that will be the first and last time you ever utter those words, Bella. Will you tell him?" I think over what Mr Black had to say – his strange ramblings about prison and hanging. I do not believe there is an inch of truth in what he says, but what if there is?

"No, Alice. I will not, and please – may I rely on your silence too?"

She presses my hand to her heart. "Of course you may. Come with me; I have a good recipe for poultices." She reaches for my arm but draws back when I wince. "There too?" I nod, tired now.

Alice shakes her head. "One day," she says, "I am going to be in a position to hurt that evil man as much as he has hurt you, and I will not hesitate."

"What makes you say that, Alice?"

"I just know these things," she says. I concede with a nod, too weary to argue.

).().().().().().().().().().().().(

_**7. I**__**n**__** which **__**we **__**continue **__**the **__**sorry **__**circumstances **__**begun**__** by **__**Mr **__**Black's **__**unwelcome**__** visit; **__**and **__**Sir **__**Charles **__**is **__**not **__**the **__**succour **__**Isabella **__**desires.**_

_).().().().().().().().().().().().(_

_7__th__ February __1795_

"But how am I to go about my duties, Father, if I cannot leave the house? How am I to..."

"Quiet that mouth of yours, girl, or I will silence it for you! You will not leave my sight. While you remain in my care, you will listen to me and respect me and do as I say. I do not wish to hear another word about it. I do not know what that fool said to you, but it is not true, Isabella. I have done nothing wrong, do you hear me? Nothing! And you will tell your lord the same."

"I can tell my lord nothing, Father, as you keep me from corresponding with him. And if you think Mr Black a fool, why invite him to dine? I will not eat with you, Father. There are many methods you may employ to control me, but there are some things you cannot make me do."

"When did you become so ungovernable, Isabella? You behave above your station. Lord Masen will not enjoy being married to a disobedient wench. Get to your room before I beat you to within an inch of your life!"

There is courage and there is stupidity. Before one becomes another, I turn on my heel and flee.

).().().().().().().().().().().().(

_**8. I**__**n**__** which **__**Alice **__**listens **__**at **__**a **__**door **__**and **__**wishes **__**she **__**had **__**learned **__**Isabella's **__**lesson **__**(though **__**we **__**don't **__**know**__** what **__**was **__**said).**_

_).().().().().().().().().().().().(_

"_No!_ Alice, I forbid you – do not go down these stairs. Listening at doors only brings shame to the listener; I learned that through hard experience."

"I agree," says Rose. "You will only hear unpleasant words if you listen at that door. Leave it be, Alice."

"If you forbid me, I will not listen. But do you not wish to know the secret Mr Black holds over your father, Bella? What if it is something terrible? What if Lord Masen hears of it first and no longer wishes to marry you?"

"Then so be it, Alice! If my father has a secret so terrible that it would prevent my future happiness, I do not wish to hear it! And if Lord Masen cannot marry me because of it, I would rather keep the illusion of a happy future for as long as possible."

"No, you will have a happy future, Bella, I know you will. I am sorry I said that to you. But please, I must know what they are discussing. I have a very bad feeling about it."

"Do as you wish, Alice. I will not attempt to control you as Father does. But be it on your own head, and do not come crying to me when you are caught!"

"I won't be caught." She whirls off to creep down the back stairs. I wish I knew where her sudden foolhardiness stemmed from.

"Come and hold me, Rose. I cannot bear to wait for her."

"Hush, dear. Sit for me, Bella. I want to paint your likeness, so you may have a gift for your lord."

).().().().().().().().().().().().(

"Where is she?"

"In the garden," says Rose, staring despondently through the window.

"Please go and fetch her in, Rose. She will catch a chill out there."

"Bella, I do not think she can walk. I do not know how I will manage on my own. Put Wren's shoes on, if Mr Black has left you none. Or wear a pair of mine." I shake my head, and move up to take her hand.

"I cannot, Sister. Father forbade me. You know he will punish you for it, Mr Cullen or no. And I won't do that to Wren. She is right to stay hidden while Father is like this." I reach up to stroke Rose's troubled face. "Come on; I will go out in my stockings. We must bring her inside."

"Be very quiet. Perhaps he will not see us." There is not much chance of that, as Father's study is below our bedroom. If we have a plain view of the poor, sobbing girl from where we stand, he will too.

"He will see us, Rose," I whisper, "but we cannot leave her there regardless."

).().().().().().().().().().().().(

_**9. I**__**n**__** which **__**Isabella **__**and **__**Edward **__**are **__**married. **__**(**__**An extract **__**t**__**aken **__**from**__** Isabella's**__** Bridge**__**)**_

_).().().().().().().().().().().().(_

_6__th__ April 1795_

_In __the __period __of __silent __contemplation__ after __our __prayer, __I __begin__ to __feel __faint __again. __As __we __kneel __in __close __proximity, __I __feel__ as __though__ my __soul __has __left__ my __body __and__ hovers__ over __the __congregation __from__ the __rafters __above __our __heads._

_I__ look __down__ upon __the __gathering. __Rose __kneels __on __the __cushion__ she __embroidered __as __a __young __girl. __She __is __anxious __for __me __and__ excited__ too, __I __think. __How __we __will __bear __our __separation __is __beyond __the __scope__ of __my __understanding __right __now. __Her __beauty __has __blossomed__ even __more __since __she __has __married, __if __such __a __thing __is __possible. __I __ache __at __the __thought __of __leaving __her, __but __it __feels __like__ an __ache __with__ purpose __and__ resolve. __Perhaps __I __am __braver __than__ I __think._

_Alice __is__ in __the __rows __behind __at __the __back __of __the __church. __I __came __so __close __to __losing __her. __She __still __seems __lost, __but __there __is __a __glimmer __of __light __there __again. __Alice__ was __once __all __light __and __sweetness. __I __am __so __grateful __she __accompanies __us __to __Norfolk. __I __will __know__ one__ person __there, __at __least._

_I__ do __not __really__ know __my __lord._

_Do __I?_

_Can __I __believe__ the __Lord__ has __gifted __me __the __lord __I __wish __him__ to __truly __be?_

_Have __faith, __Mr __Cullen __told __me __before __he __passed. __Have __faith __in __God __and __my __godson __and, __most __importantly, __in __yourself. __Those __were __his __very __words._

_We __rise__ and__ speak __our __vows, __and__ still __I __cannot __look__ at __him. __His __voice __sounds __so __clear, __true __and __firm. __His __vows __are __seated __in __his __heart. __I __know __it._

_Mine__ are __too. __I __do__ sincerely __promise __all __these__ things__ – __to __hold __and__ to __love; __to __cherish __and __obey; __I __will __be __yours, __completely,__ until __my __dying __day._

_I__ have__ faith. __If __my __life __has __taught__ me __nothing __else, __it __has __taught __me __this._

_Rose __removes __my __glove__ and __squeezes __my __hand __gently __in __reassurance. __I __turn __to __face __my __lord. __He __takes __my __fingers __in __his __and__ pushes __his __mother's __ring__ on to __my __finger._

_He __has __claimed__ me. __I __am __his. __Now __I __look__ up __into __his __eyes, __and __though __they __burn __with __intense __emotion, __it __is__ a __great __sense __of __peace __that __washes __over__ me._

_I__ do. __I __do __have __faith. __I __am __married__ now._

_These__ green__ eyes__ are __the __windows __to __my __future, __and__ they __bless__ me __with__ peace._

).().().().().().().().().().().().(

_**10. I**__**n**__** which **__**Isabella **__**and**__** Edward**__** consummate**__** their**__** marriage.**_

_).().().().().().().().().().().().(_

_8__th__ April__ 1795_

"Are you too tired? We can go straight to sleep if you prefer."

I would _not_ prefer to sleep. I was tired, but now I burn with such intensity within his gaze that I cannot speak my thoughts. Am I supposed to feel this way? Would he still want to take me if he knew how wantonly I ached for him to touch me?

I cannot begin to understand the way my body feels when he touches me in places I have only ever washed before. The scrub of a wash cloth, the scrape of a towel – even these sensations feel different since he laid his hands upon me for the first time two days ago.

"Please stop doing that." He pushes his thumb into my mouth and pulls my lip away from my nervous teeth. He tastes lovely. I feel – I do not know the word for what I feel with his thumb in my mouth. Possessed, almost. His. I trace the ridges on it with my tongue.

"Take off your nightgown."

I really want to please my husband. I sit up immediately and pull at the ribbon that fastens my lacy gown around my throat. Alice sewed this nightdress for me ever-so sweetly, taking care to cover me with frothy lace just so. Did she know how eagerly I would remove it for my lord?

When I lie back down again, naked, his eyes travel over me as though they could caress me themselves. I feel no shame in my bare skin because my husband loves to look at me. It is apparent in his every gesture, in his demeanour, in the very heat his body expends.

When he touches me, I melt. His large hands roam over my flesh, and I want to give it to him, offer my skin to him as his due. I cannot explain my thoughts; they are so strange and heated. I push myself into his hands, even though I try not to.

"Isabella Marie Masen?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Are you ready to give yourself to me? May I take my pleasure inside you?"

His words, his voice – I belong to him entirely. I am overwhelmed. I will do anything for him.

"Please, Edward. I am yours – I have given myself to you already. Please."

Are those tears in his eyes? Does he feel as I do? I do not know quite what I am pleading for – only to be his, perhaps.

"Here." He gently takes my hands and holds them above my head, demonstrating the grip he wants me to take on the soft pillow there. "Hold on to this." I grip the pillow so hard I think it may rip in my hands.

My husband takes another, and lifting my hips, places it under me so that I am raised and wholly exposed to him. He lowers his head and places a gentle kiss on my open sex. A jolt of fire burns through me, and I grip the pillow harder.

He does things to me _there_ with his mouth and his fingers which leave me incoherent. I ride through the air as he touches me. He is so firm in his ministrations, so sure about what he gives me. In no time at all and in forever, I reach a precipice and fall over it. I think – perhaps I did – yes, I think I screamed as I fell.

I hope he does not mind.

My hips feel heavy now and loose. My breasts ache for something – for his hands. I want – oh, but then he covers me with his whole body, and I feel him there, the hard heat of him. Yes. This is right. This feels so right. I grip my pillow harder.

"Hold on tight, Angel, I am going to take you now." I am yours to have, Edward. I think it, but I am wordless still.

It feels good when he pushes into me, but then he says, "_I__ am __sorry,__ Bella_," and thrusts hard. There is a shock of pain, and I burn around him. It makes me groan, but in truth, I like the pain. I feel – fulfilled.

"Oh, Bella, Bella, Angel," he whispers, "You feel beautiful, just exactly right. I am so sorry, does it hurt?"

"It hurts a little, Edward, but in a good way. I want you there; I want you inside of me." My voice is firm; I want him to believe me. "I would take any amount of pain for you," I murmur, and he begins to move inside of me, his body pushing into and over mine.

The pain recedes until all I feel is his possession.

When he takes my nipple into his mouth, I almost shout again with the heat that floods my belly. His lips suck me in until I can no longer distinguish the separate sensations that threaten to undo me. When he stills, it takes some time for my vision, my hearing, my sense to return.

Edward laughs. He sounds so happy.

We are surrounded by feathers. It is so confusing; where did they come from? He blows gently at my face, and soft down lifts into the air and settles back down, tickling my nose.

We laugh together. What sweet bliss is this, rocked gently in my lover's arms, rolling in a nest of downy happiness?

I must have done something well, to be so richly rewarded by heaven.

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_**Thank **__**you **__**for **__**reading.**__** I **__**hope **__**you **__**enjoyed **__**it. **__**I **__**make no promises for our return to regular chapters of PTMT because **__**I**__** don't want to break them; but **__**I**__** have some holiday time coming up and will endeavour to let you know on Twitter. There will be no endless gaps! ( Gingerandgreen; sa**__**y hi.)**_


	18. Chapter 18

_**Twilight is a fantasy written by Stephanie Meyer; Plight Thee My Troth is a fantasy based on her work.**_

_**I make no claim at all for the efficacy of fennel in the treatment of morning sickness. I just needed a little easily obtainable magic. Apparently it has been used for centuries to treat hormonal imbalances in women, and to soothe the stomach. It tastes pretty good, too.**_

_**This chapter is dedicated to MM. He isn't rich, he doesn't box or ride, he owns very little and he has an aversion to tight trousers of any kind; but after 26 years of knowing him, he still makes me smile when I think about him – and if I really wanted him to, he would wear a cravat for me. Happy birthday my love.**_

_**Thank you so much Cared and Perry, and bless you lovely readers. Enjoy.**_

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**Chapter**** 17**** – All my worldly goods (I thee endow)**

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20th June 1795

Lord and Lady Masen,

In short, my answer is yes. We will arrive on Saterday fortnight. Keep me updated in the meanwhile if you please.

Yours etc.

Sir Charles Swan

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_21 June 1795_

Bella sleeps soundly, though warm sunlight bathes her pale skin. I ought not delay my departure for Lynn any longer, but I am reluctant to leave without a kiss.

As my mouth touches her forehead, her eyelids flutter. I press my lips against Bella's head as though I am bestowing a benediction and pull back slightly to look at her. Waking, she blinks sleepily at me in return. A loving smile graces her lips. My sweet angel.

"Good morning, my Love. I am sorry I woke you, but I have to be off."

"You will return by this evening?" Her mouth is dry, and her voice is thick with sleep.

"I will if I am able, but you are not to be concerned if I do not." I wipe her small frown away with my thumb, but it returns immediately. "I can hardly bear to part from you, so you can rest assured I will do everything within my power to come back to you quickly. But I will not place myself in unnecessary danger, Sweetheart. No more travelling through the night."

"We agree on that, at least. Did you show Jasper Mrs Markham's letter?"

"I did. And I left it to him to decide how to speak to Alice about it, so please consult him before you speak of it."

"I will Edward, but you know how Alice coaxes information from my lips before I have even noticed I have spoken."

One corner of my mouth turns up in a wry grin. Bella is helpless to the persuasion of those she loves. She will be the softest parent. I foresee the role of disciplinarian in my future.

Hope twists a cruel path through my belly.

"Can I bring you something nice from the market at Lynn?"

"You can, but do not ask me what, for I have never been to a market. Have you been before?"

"On occasion." I so easily forget the controlled and sheltered life my wife has led. "I will look out for something exotic for you."

She laughs, a soft chuckle that lifts my spirits. "Most things are exotic to me, Edward. Go, come back to me as fast as you can."

I kiss her lips this time, very gently – a sweet farewell; she pushes me away, but her fingers linger on my coat.

As I close the bedroom door behind me, I hear her retching cough. I wince, but have become accustomed to my inability to assist her in any way. She would prefer I left and returned as fast as I am able.

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The business of life stops for no man, and I have much to do. It is a great relief to be _doing_ – I did not know this about myself, but it seems I cannot abide inaction. I have arranged several meetings and will fetch Jenks from the port at Lynn and bring him back to Forbrigg with me.

Jacob has had little rest since his return with Jasper and Alice, but he does not complain. He asked after Lady Isabella, having received scant information from my brother. His reaction to our news was all smiles and happiness - until he recalled how ill she was, and still is.

Driving through Salthouse, I stare at the church, tall and imposing in the reeded landscape, and know that I need to stop. I bang on the roof to alert Jacob. The carriage lurches to a halt, and I clamber out quickly.

"Ten minutes, Jacob. Do you want to come in?"

"No, my Lord, I will wait at the ready. Add my prayers to yours, Sir."

The heavy wooden door is unlocked, but the church stands empty. The sun streams through the plain glass windows, illuminating the dust in the dry air. I kneel in the first row, press my clenched hands against my forehead, and fervently pray.

I know it is futile to bargain with God, though I am sorely tempted. I beg instead.

_Please, please, a thousand times please, keep my wife and child safe. Keep my heart whole and my soul intact, for without Bella, both will break. I implore You with my whole being...I cannot bear to go back to being alone. Please..._

Something happens to me as I pour my fear into God's hands. A shift in my soul, an enlightenment, a new understanding – call it what you will; I am uncomfortable with evangelical declarations. Regardless, I feel a small but profound difference inside of me. A tightly bound piece of my heart breaks open, and I relinquish the illusion of control with a sense of immense relief.

I know I cannot change my fate, or Bella's; and while I knew that intellectually before this moment, now I know it utterly. A peace I have not experienced in – well, perhaps I have never experienced it before – settles within me.

Nothing about my world has changed, but somehow I have.

I rise and walk back out into the sunshine. I close my eyes for a minute and allow the warmth to settle on my skin. I am loved; I love in return – and I will be forever grateful for the feeling. I can only do what I can do, and right now I have business to attend to.

I climb back into my carriage, and we are off.

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I enjoy working with engineers very much. In another life I might have devoted my time to the study. Structures, processes, natural science – the subjects fascinate me, and the grateful feeling I experienced this morning has strengthened through my meetings with some of the finest minds in the area.

There is an hour to spare - at least - before Jenks can be expected to be here. We have much to settle and discuss, and I hope to cover some ground as we travel back to Forbrigg together.

I spend my time wondering around the large market, looking for a gift for Bella. It is crowded and hot, and the smells of the stalls compete with one another for dominance. Fish beats spice; cooked meat beats raw; flowers and vegetables barely feature at all, though they are here in abundance. Even cloth has a distinctive odour.

A stall holder helps me to pick out some fine material for dresses that will accommodate an expanding belly – something that has not happened yet, but that we hope for; oh, how we hope for.

I find another stall selling Arabic jewellery, and spy a very pretty ring that joins my growing pile of treats and gifts. On my meandering return to the carriage, I pass a stall promising herbs and remedies for every imaginable illness. I approach it with caution.

"What can I do for you dear?" A woman with small, sun-creased eyes stares piercingly at me. She has a foreign air about her.

"Do you have a remedy for sickness in a lady bearing a child?"

"What kind of sickness? Is it very bad, dear?"

I swallow the knot coiled in my throat and nod. "The worst kind."

She turns and picks up a pinch of aromatic, dark green seeds. Spreading them on her palm, she holds her hand to my nose.

"Fennel seeds. Buy some fresh, as well. Eaten fresh, the root will soothe her stomach; but taken in sufficient quantity, the seed will calm her body enough to accept the child. Here, take a sackful. It is not expensive – half a guinea will do," she says, keeping her voice softly persuasive.

I reach for my purse before I consciously make the decision to purchase. Can I trust this woman? Is it safe?

"Could it hurt her? My wife means everything to me. I cannot risk harming her."

She smiles at me, warmth emanating from her dark eyes. "I can see that, dear. It is only fennel; the ancients used it for everything. It may not cure her, but it will not hurt. Try it. What have you to lose by it?"

It is only a herb. I am sure we have often eaten fennel. I decide to buy it, but I will check with Mrs C before I allow Cook anywhere near it. The sack, along with a crate of fresh fennel root, is delivered to Jacob while I rendezvous at the appointed inn with Jenks.

The sun is still high in the sky. Though the lawyer has barely had time to collect himself, I urge him and his luggage into the carriage, relieved that we will make it back to Forbrigg before dusk. I can no longer tolerate the ache of being apart.

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"So you wish to update your will?"

"I do. But tell me first about this estate that Buttsgrove left me. Did the will explain why he left it to me? I had no prior knowledge of its existence."

"Ah yes, that was an unexpected bequeath. The aunt was pleased not to be burdened with it. Do you know anything about the island?"

"I have paid no attention to it whatsoever. Is St Lucia ruled by the Crown?"

"This year, yes. Last year it was French, and who knows which Sovereign will claim it next? The French set the slaves free; the King re-enslaved them on behalf of the English landowners. It may be a gift that becomes more of a burden."

"You mean I own slaves now?" The idea is abhorrent, and my distaste is reflected in my voice. "I saw something about that in the papers you gave me, but had so much on my mind... Can I set them free again? Who manages the estate?"

"There is a French manager, I believe. He turns a tidy profit for you. The market for sugar cane is very buoyant, and there are spices too. I can look over the figures for you – if you paid the workers, I believe you could still make an excellent income – but you would have to convince the manager to do what you ask. I have no idea what his relationship with Sir Hunter-Buttsgrove was."

There is so much to ponder. An idea forms at the back of my mind; one that will test the strength of my brother's resolve, but that may answer several problems at once. I decide to mull it over and discuss it with Bella before I mention it to anyone else.

"So – my will."

"Do you wish to change the entail on the estate, Sir?"

"No, no – nothing like that. My wife is with child, and we hope for an heir. If we are not so blessed, my brother will hopefully survive me."

"May I offer my congratulations, my Lord?" Jenks smiles at me warmly – a rare gift from a serious and nervous man.

"You may indeed. Although my wife is very ill, so your prayers will also be accepted."

"I am terribly sorry to hear that, Sir." His smile disappears immediately, which is a shame, because his heavy features were transformed by it. "So it is not Forbrigg that concerns you?"

"No – well yes, but the entail is necessary to keep the estate intact. No, I wish to ensure that my wife is provided for, should I pass before her; and I wish to appoint a guardian for my child, should he or she survive us both. I also need to ensure that my brother and any wife of his are provided for, particularly as it is uncertain whether Mr Masen will enter the clergy now. And as the estate is entailed upon my closest male heir, I need to ensure that any daughter I have is equally well provided for. It is a complicated business, and I have a great deal of property to consider, especially now."

We spend the remainder of the journey unpicking my legacy and attempting to insure against any outcome of ill fortune. There have been enough brushes with mortality lately to focus my mind sharply on what could be.

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Samuels takes Jenks off to settle and wash, while I make my way through the house, following sounds of merriment and laughter.

I stand in the doorway to the orangery, where my family is gathered in the last rays of the setting sun. The tableau before me tightens my throat so much I cannot alert them to my presence.

Rose, Em, Jasper and Alice are playing some kind of game. They chase and reach out for one another like children playing tag – indeed, I think they are playing tag.

Bella reclines on a chaise, covered in a blanket, watching them with an expression both indulgent and concerned. A few weeks ago, she would have been the most beautiful woman in this room. Her face is pale, her hair lank, and an angry spot irritates her chin. She is thinner than I have known her, and dark rings circle her large eyes.

I feel breathless with love for her.

She catches sight of me and turns to me with a smile that radiates joy. Neither of us move. We share a quiet moment of intense happiness, our eyes speaking for us across the rapidly shadowing room.

The peace I gained earlier returns tenfold with my wife within my vision. We are here, together, now; that is all that matters. The corner of my mouth turns up high.

Jasper and Alice dart across my line of sight. He catches the girl and collapses with her in his arms into a nearby chair. Bella flushes with embarrassment for them, and my peace is replaced with anger.

Does the foolish boy not understand how this makes Alice look?

"Jasper!" He jumps and pushes Alice upright to turn towards me.

"Edward, you are here." He states the obvious. Yet he cannot see what is obvious to my eyes.

"A word in private, if you will."

He stands to follow me, and Alice moves over to Bella, taking hold of her hand. Bella grasps hers tightly, frowning at my brother. She can clearly understand my point of view. Em and Rose look uncomfortable. They sit, Rose with her hands on her small rounded belly, Em reaching for a book from a side table.

Jasper follows me into my study, and I close the door. He waits patiently for me to speak. He clearly needs more guidance than I have been giving him, and I am not sure how to express myself.

"Jasper, if I had been one of the servants watching you as I was this evening, what do you think I would have seen?" I am pleased that I sound calm and rational; I have a new found ability to rein my temper in.

He does not answer for a while. He is clearly taken aback by my question. I can be patient, and I wait for the wheels to turn.

Eventually, I am rewarded. "I suppose you would have seen an unmarried lady's maid cavorting with a gentleman. You have not told them then?"

"No. I could not – Alice has lived amongst the staff here for much longer than those in London; I do not know what she has told them, or what they know. I thought you understood this yesterday?"

He contemplates until he understands the conversation I refer to. "When you told us Alice is to remain in her quarters until you have made other arrangements? I am sorry, Edward, my attention was focused elsewhere."

"It is not me you need to apologise to. You have made Alice look like a –" No, I cannot use the word at the tip of my tongue to describe Alice. "Well, you know what I mean."

Fresh understanding dawns on my brother's face, and his cheeks flush with shame. "But I am going to marry her, Edward. You know I am."

I forgot to have this conversation with Jasper. Or perhaps I delayed it through discomfort with the topic. The last time we discussed sex, my brother was quite the puritan.

"Jasper, forgive me for asking, but are you going to have to marry her _soon_? Have you – how far have you gone?"

He flushes further and looks down at his boots. "We have been very careful."

"Careful?" Oh Lord. I grasp him firmly by the shoulder and force him to look at me. "Jasper, Alice is an innocent, young woman with no experience of the world whatsoever. Do you realise that Swan never let them leave the confines of Seat? Ever? Rose and Bella went to two dances in their whole lives; Alice has attended none. She has spent very little time in company, and her only friends in the world are her two sisters – cousins – if they are related at all..." I trail off, having confused myself thoroughly.

"They are; I am certain they are," my defeated brother mutters.

"You may have noble intentions, but you are _all_ she has. If something were to happen to you, she would be very lucky indeed to find happiness with a servant or a labourer; and if you make her pregnant, what then? For pity's sake, Jasper, restrain yourself. She has no father to protect her. Have you given up the Church entirely, then?"

He rubs his hand over his eyes, pulling away from me. "Can we sit?"

"By all means." I gesture to the chair in front of my desk and take my own seat behind it. It feels strange to address my brother this way, but I think we both need the distance.

"When I am with Alice," he begins, pausing again to collect jumbled thoughts. "When it is just her and me, the world recedes to become of so little importance, I forget it exists at all. I had no idea love could be so consuming of reason and rational behaviour. We get lost in one another. I forget my place and hers."

The poor man looks forlorn. I understand what he means. If I had been thinking rationally, I would never have married the daughter of an unwed, greedy upstart with more avarice than money, however lovely she is. I am thoroughly grateful for the befuddling powers of sexual attraction and love.

"I understand, Jasper, I really do. Perhaps if you had been a little more adventurous in your youth, you would not have been quite so swept away by the physical side of love. Sex is a dangerous thing, Brother. Keep your cock in your breeches, if you can."

He blushes again. I forget how young he is. But he is old enough to take more responsibility than this.

"You haven't answered my question about your profession. Do you still intend to become ordained?"

He shrugs. "I still want to, but I realise I do not necessarily deserve to. And whatever happens, my marriage to Alice comes first."

"Well, how about this. Hold off for a short while longer – restrain your behaviour in front of everyone, including me – until all of Forbrigg understands that you have fallen hopelessly in love with Bella's maid. You must behave impeccably in a gentlemanly manner, or the local gossip will go against her, do you understand?"

He nods emphatically.

"We will have you married in a quiet ceremony, and we will avoid making any announcements. You can go before the Bishop as planned in September, but you will not take up your living yet. I will find a temporary replacement."

"What will I do instead?"

"Would you consider travelling to the Caribbean with your wife to manage my new estate?"

"You would send me that far away?"

"Only for a year or so. I need someone out there I can trust; and when you return, people outside of Forbrigg may assume Alice is a colonial daughter whom you met over there and married."

"And then I become the vicar? As simple as that?"

"Nothing is ever simple, Jasper. But it is the best plan I can come up with. Are you on board?"

"I will need to think on it, Edward."

"Yes, you will. And Jasper?"

He looks up at me, trust, gratitude and respect written on his features. I feel unworthy of this look.

"Speak to Alice before you come to any decision. Do not make my mistakes, Brother."

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I carry Bella up to bed, so pleased to have her in my arms again.

"What do you smell of?" she murmurs as we climb the stairs. She nuzzles her nose into my chest, burrowing below the coat I still wear. "You smell edible. I want to bite you."

Her tease sends a shock of arousal through my body, and blood floods into my groin. It must be the fennel seeds she is referring to – I have some in my waistcoat pocket – but I nearly drop her with the lust that engulfs me. I stop still where I stand, half way to the landing.

"What?" she asks, puzzled by my behaviour. She meant nothing by it.

"Nothing," I say. We continue upstairs, but my arousal does not diminish.

When I lay her gently on the bed, she notices my state. I turn away quickly, but she catches my hand.

"Edward?"

I turn back to her, and smile down at my brave wife. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Do you – I mean, I..." She stops, flushing as brilliantly as my brother did half an hour ago.

"What is it, Sweetheart?"

"I wanted to ask..." She covers her face with her hands, and the next words emerge at such a pace I cannot decipher them. "Willyouliedownwithme?"

"What did you say? I couldn't hear you."

"Oh... no. Nothing. Do not trouble yourself. Goodnight." She turns and mumbles into her great mound of pillows.

Clearly, I have upset her. Everything was simpler when we communicated with looks rather than words. I sit next to her on the bed and take her hand in mine. She tries to snatch it away.

"Bella, will you tell me what troubles you?"

She only burrows her face deeper.

"Please?"

I had a better response from Seth when he was mute than this. I try a firmer tone.

"Bella, turn over and talk to me. What ails you? Have I displeased you?"

Her body stiffens but remains still.

"Bella, that's enough." I grasp her arms and turn her to face me. Her face is still red, and she keeps her eyes scrunched closed, like a child hiding in plain view. I sigh. I feel very weary of being the parental figure this evening.

"Isabella Masen, open your eyes and talk to me. Now."

Her eyes fly open and pierce me with a glare as sharp as a knife. "_Now_ you want me to talk? I have been trying to talk to you since you came home from London, but you wait until I am feeling humiliated before you insist upon it?"

What? This is new. I battle to unravel her declarations. "Isabella, why are you feeling humiliated? What have I done?"

Tears pool at the corner of my wife's eyes as she stares accusingly at me. I wish I could read her mind, because I am utterly bewildered as to what the problem is.

We stare at one another for some time, but no words come from my mouth or hers. Eventually her gaze softens; she takes my hand and squeezes it.

"I am glad you are safely home," she says. "I had better get to sleep before my sickness returns. Will you call Alice for me?"

I feel dismissed. I want to talk to her; I want to know what she thinks I have done wrong, and I want to discover what she has been trying to tell me since I came home. But I do nothing. I take the coward's option in the face of her unsettling behaviour and leave the room.

I am half way down the stairs before I realise I did not even kiss her goodnight.

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_22nd__ June 1795_

"Bella thinks you are hiding from her."

I smile at my sister as she enters the library. "I'll tell you a secret, Rose. I _am_ hiding from her."

She laughs at my sheepish expression. "Why? What have you done?"

I clear my throat and look towards the empty fireplace – anywhere but at Rosalie. "I don't exactly know."

There is a pause before she speaks again, in which I pray for an interruption, but to no avail.

"Edward," she says in her softest voice, the one usually reserved for her husband. "I do not know if all women experience the same thing, but since I have been carrying Em's child, I have not been quite myself. Do you know – that is, do you think that is normal?"

I turn back to look at her again. If I suspected condescension, one glimpse at her respectful, open expression eliminates the possibility immediately. She appears to be genuinely seeking my advice. Why?

"What do you mean, Rosalie? How have you changed?"

"Well, I cry a lot. I did not before. I hardly ever cried, before. Not since – but then – oh, never mind." She shakes her head as though to rid herself of a fly in her ear.

"Do you cry for no reason?" I suspect I know what she means by '_not since_'; not since her rape, or perhaps her wedding night. I recall Em's letter describing her distress quite clearly. I want to bring her attention back to the matter in hand, to ease her growing discomfort.

"Yes, exactly, for the silliest things. And I get cross, again for the silliest things, and before I know why I am angry, I am in tears again. It is very frustrating. Your cousin finds it quite alarming."

I have to stifle a laugh at the image of Em being alarmed at Rose's tears. It comes very easily to mind. I cannot suppress a wry smile though, and Rose swiftly returns it.

"Perhaps it is nature's way of softening you for motherhood. You must be excited and a little scared, conceivably? Anticipation of a great thing can bring intense emotion to the fore."

Rose stares at me for a minute, surprise adorning her brow. "Yes. A softening – I believe you are right. Does Bella feel that way?"

"I have no idea. Perhaps she does." Have I not been paying enough attention?

"She has not talked to you about it?" Now my sister looks knowing and coy. Has _she_ talked to Bella? She must have.

I shake my head.

"Will you go and talk to her now? She would like you to." Rose walks over to me, stretches up on tiptoes, and kisses my temple. "You are a wonderful man, Edward. Bella needs you. She is crying, but she doesn't know why."

I am a little overwhelmed by this show of affection, and it takes a moment before I understand what Rose has said. When I do, I spin around on my heel, hand the volume I was pretending to study to Rose, and march out of the library.

_To love and to cherish, Edward Masen; in sickness and in health, for better and for worse – damn fool_. I berate myself with vows and curses all the way back up the stairs and into our bedroom.

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_4__th__ July 1795_

"What are you eating, Sweetheart? It smells good."

Bella looks up from her seat at the small table overlooking the window in our bedroom. Her smile is warm and bright. There is a little more colour in her cheeks, and as her eyes travel over my attire, her flush heightens prettily.

"It is beef broth with ginger and fennel. A little soft barley for bulk. It is delicious, would you like to try some?" She holds a spoonful out to me, a seductive temptress, as innocent and wicked as Eve.

I nod and bend towards her, parting my lips for the spoon. She tips the broth into my mouth, and the heat and strong flavours elicit an unexpected moan from my throat. I suck off the last drop from the spoon and lick my lips.

"That _is_ good. Does it work?" I cock my head to the side and contemplate Bella's utter lack of response. She is immobile, staring at me with a slightly open mouth. "Bella?"

Em, Jasper and I have been indulging ourselves in a playful boxing match. We are all a little on edge, as Swan and Wren are expected today. The exercise allowed us to blow off some steam; and for Jasper and I, both feeling a little frustrated, it was a necessary physical release. The sweat is rapidly cooling on my body, so that the shirt that was sticking to me a few minutes previously begins to loosen. The breeze from the window is welcome against the damp skin left bare by the buttons I have opened. Which reminds me...

"Thank you for the new cravat, I will wear it for dinner, assuming your father arrives in time."

The mention of her father seems to shake Bella out of her trance. "Is it wrong of me to have not missed either of my parents at all since I left their home?" She looks thoughtful, capturing her bottom lip with her teeth again. "It almost feels as though the life I led then was a dream; this, here with you, is my reality."

Rather than answer her words, I lean towards her and catch her lips with mine. I can taste the broth in her mouth, which I explore gently with my tongue. Ever since our long talk - at Rosalie's instigation - I have been showering my wife with my physical affection, as well as my words of love.

I do not know whether her diminishing insecurity at my constant attention has been instrumental in lessening her sickness or whether the fennel seeds have worked their magic. Either way, Bella is a little stronger, a little less sick, and a little more determined to play her wifely role every day. I am so proud of her – and grateful. However, the constant anticipation of pleasure, and the thwarting of any release, has me on edge; hence the need for exercise. I reluctantly pull my mouth away from hers.

"I can barely recall my life before we wed, Bella. It was a much less colourful existence."

"Truly?" She looks at me curiously, her head tilted to one side. What is she thinking?

I pull up a chair and take Bella's hands in mine. Not allowing her to break eye contact I ask, "Do you honestly doubt me?"

She tries to look away, so I cradle her cheek with my hand and push her lovely face back to focus on me.

She hesitates before she speaks again. "I only wonder, because you must have been free to relieve yourself at will." She blushes furiously. "I am not feeling quite so poorly today. Perhaps...", she trails off.

_Free to relieve myself at will?_ "Bella, are you talking about sex again?" I am an idiot, but I am not going to make the same mistake twice.

I would not have believed it possible, but her blush deepens even further. I need no vocal clues.

"First of all Sweetheart, let me reassure you that I did _not_ relieve myself at will before I married you. When I did dally with a woman, it was nothing _at all _like what we share." I search my mind for a measure of comparison. "Have you ever taken snuff?"

She shakes her head. Of course she has not, where would she have obtained that vile substance? "Can you imagine what snuff might be like, though? A pleasurable tingle before a satisfying sneeze or three?"

She laughs. "Some of the old ladies in the village tried snuff when I was visiting once. They appeared to enjoy themselves exactly as you describe."

"Then you will understand that is what sex was like for me before we married. A few pleasurable tingles before a mildly satisfying finish. I had no idea how far superior an act sex with one's wife would be. If we men were aware of the difference, I imagine we would all be married at seventeen."

"Really?"

"Yes, my love, really. When I promised to worship you with my body, I was innocent of the truth and power behind those words. Now that I know what they mean, I would not undo them for any reason. I want to worship you bodily all day, every day, Bella. I only restrain myself for decorum's sake – and to not put any further burden upon _your_ poor body."

"Rose said that her husband requires regular release, and I was concerned that you would too. I understand if you need to find someone else while I am indisposed, but today I..."

"What?" I cannot help but interrupt her. Is that what she thinks of me?

"I am sorry?" Her apology is so tentative, and so like a question, she can have no idea what made me sound angry.

I pull away and stand abruptly. Pacing the floor, I search frantically for a way to respond to my wife. When I turn back to her, she is anxiously tearing away at her lower lip with her teeth. I take a step towards her and see the flinch she attempts to control; itstops me in my tracks.

I kneel down on the floor near Bella's feet, the distance between us great enough for her to know that even though I may be angry, I will not hurt her. In fact, I am not angry at all, only wounded at her suggestion.

"Isabella, I am a gentleman, not an animal. I can control my urges, believe me. I kneel before you because you are my _wife_. I give you everything I own – everything I am; you can do with me what you will. I will never hurt you – not deliberately. Do you understand?"

I am dismayed by the gamut of emotions that cross her face. She looks distraught.

"Edward," she whispers as she reaches out for me. "I have done it again. I vowed I would never compare you to my father or Mr Black ever again, and yet here I am, making poor assumptions. I am so sorry, what can you think of me?"

I fold her into my embrace, shushing her as the tears begin to fall once again. I stroke her hair and murmur encouragement in her ear until she calms sufficiently to talk to me.

"Would you like to know the truth, Edward?" She sniffs, stroking my cheek and staring into my eyes.

I smile. "What kind of question is that, Bella? I always want to know the truth about you."

"Truly? Always? Even when the truth is unpleasant, or not very ladylike?"

"Always, and I am intrigued that you may have been concealing some unladylike truths from me. Intrigued and rather excited."

She giggles. "Would my unladylike thoughts excite you?"

"Unquestionably." I nod emphatically. My eager anticipation must be writ large across my features, and Bella appears to gain courage from it.

"Well then, in the interests of honesty and valour, I must disclose that since you walked into the room, I have had the strongest urge to remove all my clothing and display myself wantonly for your pleasure. I have been hoping you will feel the need to strip off your sweat-soaked shirt and those tight breeches, and take me vigorously until the ache between my legs is but a memory. "

For a few seconds I can only stare wide-eyed at the flushed and flustered beauty in front of me.

"Have you finished your soup?" My voice emerges as a low growl.

Bella nods.

I stand and move to close and lock the bedroom door. Returning to my wife, I take her hand and gesture for her to rise. We walk towards the bed together, where I release her hand and stand back.

"Do you need any help with your gown?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest as I indicate she should go ahead.

Bella's eyes lower in embarrassment, but I see them caught by the size of the bulge in my breeches, which are indeed tight, and leave little to the imagination. She takes courage once more from my obvious arousal and lifts her eyes to mine. The lust I see there is extraordinary.

Her dress is fastened on the underside of each breast. She unbuttons herself slowly, then unwraps the material from her body like a gift. When it is free, she allows it to fall to the floor in a puddle of muslin – a very uncharacteristic act. A short, soft corset is fastened loosely over her petticoat, and that swiftly follows the dress to the floor.

I can see her nipples, slightly darker than they were, through the cloth of her remaining garment. She pushes the shoulder straps down and allows the petticoat to fall to her waist.

Her bare breasts are magnificent. Bella looks back at me, both proud and very vulnerable.

"Will you touch them for me?" My question catches softly in my throat.

She sees where my gaze is focused and tentatively raises her hands to cup her full and rounded flesh. She looks stunning; I wish I could ask her sister to paint her in this pose.

"Stroke your thumbs over your nipples."

She complies, circling them, then running her thumbs over the hardened tips. I have to press my hand over my prick to ease the throbbing ache the sight engenders.

"Will you remove the petticoat now?"

She nods and slides her hands down her ribcage and over her belly, until the garment flutters to the floor to huddle with the rest of her clothes.

Bella's skin has become almost translucent. Blue veins thread prettily under their pale cover, and the dark hair at her groin is in dramatic contrast.

I close the distance between us, holding her body reverently between hands that appear very large on her slender frame. I bend to kiss her collarbone, and when I rise again, I rub my nose gently against hers. My lips find their way home, and as I kiss my wife, I stroke her body, bare and wanton for my pleasure. I do not know what I did to have been so blessed.

Breaking the kiss, I lay her back on the bed, parting her legs so that I fit between them and can gaze at her open sex. The flesh is darker here, too. She is wet, and somehow the excitement of looking at my naked, wanting woman while I am almost completely dressed is incredibly exciting.

Nevertheless, I want to be inside her. I step back to tear off my shirt and unbutton my breeches. Bella props herself up on her elbows to watch me, and I understand that she gains as much pleasure from watching me as I do from her.

I push her further back on the bed, bending her knee up so that she is even more open to me. I run my fingers gently through her wet, velvet flesh, teasing her cruelly. She shifts and wriggles, trying to force a harder touch.

I want to continue, but the last time we tried this, after spending hours talking about our needs and hopes and desires, we were spectacularly unsuccessful. The slightest jolting movement sent poor Bella over the edge of the bed, searching desperately for a container to be sick into. I do not want to revisit that experience.

"Sweetheart, are you certain you are up to this?" I ask, climbing up so that my face rests next to hers.

"Will you trust me, Edward?"

"You know I will, of course," I say, stroking my thumb over her lips. I am obsessed with her mouth; it is so beautiful.

"Then do whatever you wish, and if it becomes too much, I will tell you. In good time."

Whatever I wish? I do not think there are enough hours in a lifetime to do what I wish; but I begin anyway, sucking a nipple into my eager mouth.

Bella's moans of pleasure do not cease for well over an hour. She does not appear to hear the commotion of her parents arriving, and I refuse to interrupt our union for anything. The most important person in the world is between my hands, and in my mouth, and under my hips; anyone else can go to the devil as far as I am concerned.

When footsteps approach the bedroom door, I only increase the pressure of my tongue, so that my wife's ecstatic cries embarrass the intruder into a rapid departure.

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I leave Bella sleeping soundly and dress as quietly as I can. The house seems quiet as I make my way downstairs, and I wonder where everyone is.

The usual receiving rooms are empty, as is the orangery. I poke my head into the formal dining room, but no one is there either. Passing the library, I think I hear voices. Pushing open the door, I pause in the entranceway, surprised to find only Alice and Sir Charles present.

I wonder whether I am interrupting a private moment. Charles is seated in one of the comfortable armchairs, but his posture is tense and upright. Alice stands before him, her expression, in profile at least, determined and defiant.

It is not in my nature to eavesdrop, but something in their manner prevents me from making my presence known.

Charles is speaking. He sounds cold and arrogant, and I am surprised that the normally timid girl does not flinch away from him.

"...and you have no right to question me. You have no standing; even in this preposterously wealthy household you are nothing, you mean nothing. Do not even address me again for the duration of my visit, do you hear me, you little guttersnipe?"

"You have my word, I will not ever speak to you again, only tell me the truth about my father. Is he or is he not Mr Black?" Alice's voice is surprisingly firm, but I can see even from this distance how she trembles. Concern drives me into the room, and it is as well, because as her words penetrate Swan's skull, he rises and lifts a hand high into the air.

Before his arm has completed its swing back along its arc, Alice ducks and trips, landing hard upon her derrière but out of reach of the blow that would most certainly have caused her greater harm. The bastard lifts a foot as though to kick her while she is down, but I reach him in time.

Swinging my foot alongside his, I knock it backwards, simultaneously reaching for my father-in-law's face. I grab hold of his whiskered jaw and force him to face me. He is clearly shocked at my presence as well as my actions. He ceases his aggression immediately.

I do not release the man. Holding his face in place with one hand, I almost spit my words into his eyes. "You will not strike a woman under my roof, Charles Swan. Do I make myself clear?"

He cannot respond, as I hold his jaw shut and his head tilted in my direction, but I can see from his expression that I make myself very clear indeed. I push him backwards and turn to help Alice to her feet. She is cowering behind me, frightened out of her wits. Her bravery was very short-lived, poor girl.

"Are you hurt?"

She brushes off her dress, stumbling again at her own hands. It takes a full minute for her to register that I have asked her a question.

"No, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"Bella is sleeping, please do not disturb her; but I think you ought to go and find Rose." I suspect it is my brother that Alice will run to, but I do not want to alert Swan to their relationship just yet.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." She curtseys to me and departs in a swirl of skirts, leaving a trail of lavender scent behind.

I sigh. Alice may never understand my point of view, but at least she does as she is told.

I pour two glasses of French brandy before turning back to face Swan. He looks thunderous and sullen but accepts the glass without a word.

"Well, Charles. I am glad you have made it here in good time. It seems we have a lot to talk about."

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_**I have to rush off to prepare an Easter family picnic now, so forgive me for all the things I know I am going to leave out, and for all mistakes I have left in. **_

_**There are a couple of fandom causes I would like to promote without having the time to contribute to. These are Fandoms 4 Autism and FandomNKH. Please look these up on the various social media sites, there are some fab authors contributing and some very lovely people involved in promoting them.**_

_**Son or daughter? Tell me in a review or on Twitter. Gingerandgreen.**_


	19. Chapter 18 With My Body, I Thee Worship

_**Stephenie Meyer rocks Twilight, and I'm grateful she lets me take her characters back in time.**_

_**A fortnight ago, I added some tight breeches for particular readers. This week there is a cravat for a certain somebody. But I would like to dedicate this whole chapter my loyal, kind, compassionate and caring readers who continue to support my story despite my recent (and likely to be ongoing) radio silence. I can't begin to tell you how much you mean to me.**_

_**I was too ill to get this chapter to my beta (Perry) on time, and although I sorely miss her guidance, I promised someone I'd post this today, so am going ahead anyway. Many, many thanks to Cared and MM for double duty. All mistakes, as always, are mine.**_

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**Chapter****18**** – With My Body, I Thee Worship**

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I stare at my sullen father-in-law and wonder where the devil to begin. We clearly inhabit very different worlds.

It occurs to me that my own father must have been an extraordinary man. Though I looked up to him as a hero, I did not always consider him fair or just. I recall occasions when he pushed me to achieve, to learn more, to consider every angle; when all I wanted to do was take the easier route, the well-travelled path my contemporaries were permitted to choose. But how would I have fared as a young man in charge of a large estate, several property holdings, an enormous staff and a suspicious and often backward-looking community to lead, if I had not been guided in youth by a great man?

Looking at the man opposite me – fat; flushed; almost childlike in his temperament – I wonder what kind of father I will be. It makes me nervous.

"You grew up in Dorset?" The place of a man's birth seems as good a point to begin as any.

Swan looks surprised by my opening gambit. "I did. My father managed an estate down there. Probably about the size of this one."

I wonder at his comparison for a moment, then dismiss it. I cannot inhabit the mind of this man. "Is your father still alive?"

"No, no. He has long since gone. As has the rest of my family."

"What was he like? Your father."

Swan squirms in his seat uncomfortably. "He was your average estate manager, I suppose. Busy. We did not see much of him."

"And your mother?"

"Is there a point to this? I am not accustomed to inquisition."

"I want to know more about you before I address some issues with you, Charles. You are a member of my family now; I want to get the measure of you." I lean back in my chair, one leg thrown over the other, my glass dangling from my hand.

Swan has drained his glass already. He gestures towards the decanter, and I nod in acquiescence, though I suspect his studied refilling is a delaying tactic.

When he finally takes his seat and faces me again, he still looks unsure. "I am a straightforward man, Lord Masen. I do not understand the rules of this game you are playing. I would prefer that you spit out the issues you want addressed."

"Very well. There are two. The first is your man, Black. I want to know why he was snooping around my residence in London, and what he was doing visiting a certain address in Covent Garden on a daily basis." I lean forward, placing my forearms along my thighs in a gesture that I know Swan finds intimidating.

True to form, he leans as far away from me as he can, making his face an open book. "What does that cretin's actions have to do with my father, for God's sake?"

I wait quietly for an answer. He looks unsettled at my patience.

"Look, Black is his own man, I have no hold over him and no say in his actions. I have no idea why he was following you around London. He has scarcely spoken to me since you and Isabella married. He is fucking angry with me, I am sure you know why."

"The thing I find particularly hard to understand, is why you were going to allow Isabella to marry him in the first place. You clearly love your daughter."

Swan harrumphs at me, but it is in agreement with the sentiment.

"And you obviously did not think him a good match. Yet for years, you strung him along with the hope of her hand one day. Why would you do that to your friend? Or Isabella, for that matter?"

"I had my reasons."

"Do those reasons have anything to do with the fact that you are not married to the mother of your children?"

"_What_?" Swan blanches; but the interjection comes not from him, but from the doorway to the library.

We both look up to find Rose staring in horror at her father.

"What do you mean? Father is married to Wren. You are married, are you not Father?" Her voice is tight and high. I can see Em grimacing behind her, with a hand to his forehead.

If Swan could kill me with his eyes, I would be impaled, drawn and quartered by now.

"Rosalie, it is not for you to concern yourself with such petty quarrels as these." He stands to greet his daughter – the first time I have seen any gentlemanly behaviour from the fool towards either girl. "You look well." He gestures towards her growing belly.

"You did not say so when I greeted you at the door! Did you not see me then?" Something in her tone leads me to believe that Rose was already upset with her father, before the unfortunate moment she chose to enter the room.

Swan looks nonplussed.

"Rose," Em admonishes her gently, "Your father has barely arrived. Allow him time to explain." He strokes her cheek with his knuckles, and she soothes like a wild horse under a stallion.

They come to seat themselves in the circle of chairs Swan and I inhabit. I hand my sister a sherry, and Em joins us with harder liquor. I fill Swan's glass for the third time before topping up my own.

There is an awkward silence.

"Where is Wren?" I ask.

Em answers me when it is clear Rosalie will not. Her eyes do not rise from the intense study of her lap.

"She has gone to lie down. She was worn out from her journey, and not quite herself."

The unspoken corollary is that none of us know what 'herself' would look like, but I take this to mean she was upset in some way.

"What about Bella? Is she too ill to come down?" Em's eyes have a sparkle to them at this question.

I wonder whether it was he who came to interrupt us in our lovemaking. "She is resting too. But I have hope that she will join us for dinner, as she was feeling a little better today."

"That's wonderful news. And Alice and Jasper?"

Ah, this is awkward. We have not dined together formally as a family since our return from London. There is no way to easily include Alice at the family table, and Jasper will not dine without her. We have used the excuse of Bella's illness to mask discomforting formal gatherings.

Now, Em's unconscious coupling of Alice and Jasper's names has alerted Swan to the possibility of a relationship between them. As Charles' eyes widen and his colour heightens, Em appears to acknowledge his artless mistake.

"I, er... I wondered where they were...is Alice with Bella?"

Swan's eyes narrow. I can see the calculations working through his mind.

"There are a lot of secrets in this family at the moment. Are there not, Swan?" I do not intend to allow him the upper hand. When he raises an eyebrow at me in response, I continue. "It is my intention to uncover every single one. Beginning at dinner this afternoon. I expect everyone to be in attendance, including Wren. Rose, perhaps you could relay my message and ensure your mother is suitably recovered? Em, seek my brother out, will you? And send Samuels to me. Thank you."

They stand to withdraw, and Swan rises too. I delay him with a hand to his upper arm. "Charles, no matter what is revealed tonight, I must reiterate that while you are under my roof, you will treat the women in my care with respect. That includes Wren, as you have no legal claim to her. Understood?"

He looks furious, but merely nods. If he opens his mouth to speak, snakes might fall out of it.

Samuels approaches. "My Lord?"

I do not take my eyes off Swan as I address my butler. "Samuels, Sir Charles has requested that Lady Masen's maid Alice joins us for dinner this evening. She is like another daughter to him. See to it, please."

"Yes Sir. Will that be all?"

I nod, and he smartly retreats.

Swan's mouth hangs open. "I do not recognise your game at all, Masen. Not at all."

I clap him solidly on the shoulder. "Dinner is at five. If you need anything, Samuels has a member of staff at your beck and call. Just ring the bell."

Now to go and reveal my plan to Bella. I wonder what she will think of my approach to her father.

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We are little late coming down for dinner. Bella spent half an hour bent double over a basin, and needed to wash before she dressed. She is determined to accompany me, but I think her nerves at seeing her parents once more may be making her feel worse.

I insist on carrying her down the stairs – I am not certain she would make it if I did not – and into the receiving room. Everyone is gathered except Jasper and Swan. I set Bella down in front of her mother, who looks flushed and confused.

Bella embraces her gently, and though Wren does not reciprocate, she sinks noticeably into her daughter's arms. I realise that we are all staring at them as Bella whispers into Wren's ear. I sweep my eyes around the faces in the room, all displaying a concoction of emotion. The evening has barely begun, and we are already overwhelmed.

"Em, Alice, where is Jasper?" I want to draw their attention away from the intimate display of affection.

"He took Swan out to the gun room, I think," replies Em; but it is Alice's guilty flush that alerts me to potential trouble.

"Excuse me a moment, I will be right back." The gun room? How on Earth did Jasper entice Swan there? I arrive in time to interrupt a heated conversation.

"...you have no right, and I will not tolerate that kind of behaviour. Nor will my brother, as you have discovered. You must recognise the inherent sin in striking a woman in anger..."

Swan interrupts my brother's tirade. "What is she to you? Why do you care what I do, or do not do, to _Alice_?" he demands.

"Gentlemen, your presence is required so that we may go in to dine. We will discuss everything – and I mean _everything_ – as we eat." For a moment I think I have lost my authority, because neither man moves. "Come! Come, there are ladies waiting on us. It will not do."

Reluctantly, my brother and father-in-law tear their murderous glares from one another, and precede me out of the room. They are of a similar height, and I control a childish urge to knock their heads together in the way that the masters at school frequently did to Em and I.

When we return, Samuels is waiting to announce that dinner is served. Bella takes my arm. Swan deliberately stalks Wren and roughly draws her reluctant hand to his arm. Rose clings to Em as though she needs his support desperately. Jasper, not to be outdone, offers his arm to Alice, who smiles sweetly and rather conspiratorially at him as she takes it.

I feel as though we are in a procession to our doom in some Shakespearean fool's paradise.

When we are seated and the first course is on the table, Jasper loudly blesses the food. "...and for what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful," he finishes, to a chorus of 'Amen'.

For some reason, I find it hard not to laugh. We frequently give thanks before we eat, though usually only at family meals. I suppose this _is_ a family meal. But what amuses me is the information we are all about to receive – hopefully – and how ungrateful some present may be for it.

When everyone has food on their plates, I survey the silent family members around my table. They all seem to be waiting for some kind of signal. I decide to lay down some rules for the evening.

"Barring illness," I say, glancing at Bella, "No one will leave this dining table tonight until we have shared the family secrets that burden our hearts. We are all bound to one another in some way, so there is no point in attempting to shield anyone, or attack anyone for that matter. Certainly not everything will be pleasant to hear, but I ask you all to show courage and fortitude. I suggest that whenever someone has a question, they ask it in the full expectation that it will be answered honestly and without malice. Do you agree?"

A variety of reluctant, concerned and supportive nods follow from everyone except Wren. This, I cannot accept.

"Wren," I say gently, and she looks up at me like a startled rabbit. "You are included in this conversation. Do you agree to my terms?"

She looks frantically at her impatient husband – no, not her husband, her master perhaps? Her keeper? Lord knows what to call their relationship. He offers her no support, so she looks first to Bella – who smiles reassuringly at her – and then to me, nodding uncertainly.

"Good. Who would like to begin?"

Rosalie's head shoots up. "I have a question, Edward. What did you mean by saying that my father is not married to my mother?"

Bella looks at me in dismay, then turns to her parents. "You are married! How could you not be married? That's ridiculous."

"We are married in the eyes of God, Isabella. We may not have a certificate from the church to declare it so, but believe me, we are married," Swan replies emphatically.

Bella and Rose look horrified by his declaration, but by the look on Alice's face, I suspect Jasper has been more forthcoming with her than Em or I have.

"But _why_ are you not married? How could you not be? What does that make Bella and I?" Rose's voice has reached a wail. Em grasps her hand, but she snatches it away from him. "Did you know? Did you know before we were wed? Emanuel, what does this mean?"

"Hush, Sweetheart, hush. It does not mean anything. I discovered the deception after we wed, but it does not signify. You were baptised, and you are my wife. You need no other status."

Em is trying to protect me, but I cannot expect anyone else to reveal their secrets if I do not declare my own. I turn to Bella and take her trembling hand in mine. "Bella, I confess that I discovered this fact before we married. I asked Jasper to do a little digging because I was suspicious of your father," I glance briefly at Charles, "And Black. I am sorry I did not reveal my knowledge to you, but I wanted to protect you."

"You knew I was a bastard and you still married me?" she whispers, but the silence around the table exaggerates the sound.

"You are not, and never were, a bastard child," I state firmly, "And yes, I knew, but it did not deter me in my choice in the slightest. Perhaps we could ask your mother and father to explain themselves."

We all turn to the oldest and most irresponsible couple in the dining room.

Swan's hand is clenched into a tight fist on the table; he looks as though he is struggling to rein in his fury. I am astounded when it is Wren who responds.

"I refused. I would not marry him. It was the last act of will I ever made. I told him I would rather give birth and die in the streets than marry him, but he took me anyway."

"Mama!" Rose's cry startles Swan and Wren alike; she looks devastated. Wren looks resigned.

"Is that why you were disappointed, Father? She defied you?"

Charles nods at Bella, who wrings my hand fiercely.

"I was not going to abandon your mother, even though she let me down at every turn. Her father was a hard, cruel man, and even though he refused her a dowry, I had his permission to marry her. There was no doubt the child was mine. No one ever doubted that. You are my daughter, Rose." Swan turns back to Rose, urging her earnestly to believe him with his bulldog eyes.

Rosalie looks anguished at the idea that there might ever have been any doubt. Swan is mistaken in the concerns of the family. None of us hold any other opinion than that Rosalie and Isabella were sired by him.

"Wren, perhaps you could tell us the story from the beginning," I suggest gently.

"Genevieve. My name is Genevieve." She begins to cry. We are all astounded when Swan turns to her with his napkin and wipes her tears away, but they do not cease.

Alice pipes up. "I thought your real name was Jenny. Jenny Wren. Jennifer."

Bella agrees. "We all did."

"I always called her my Genny Wren, because that is who she was. And still is. My little Genny Wren, who would never do as she was told, no matter what I did." Swan actually looks lovingly at the woman by his side.

She will not look back at him.

"Well, what did you do?" Em is angry. "What did you do that was so awful _your__Wren_ would rather die ignominiously in the streets than marry you?"

"He killed my dearest friend!"

Wren sniffs into the stunned silence that follows her declaration.

Swan throws his napkin down and stands up hurriedly. "This is too much," he mutters, and strides out of the dining room.

We stare at one another, our faces immobile in shock.

"Should I go after him?" I ask the room at large, but before anyone answers me, a strangled gasp from my left barely allows me the time to catch my wife as she slumps into a dead faint.

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"Thank you, Mrs C. My compliments to Cook, and please convey the message to all that we will convene again for a late breakfast. Twelve, I think. I hope the meal will be salvageable for then. Lady Masen will ring for her light repast at her usual time."

"Yes, my Lord. Feel better, my Lady. Call me again dear, if you need me."

Bella smiles weakly at the housekeeper from her place in our bed. "I will. Goodnight, Mrs C. And thank you for your looking after me."

I am grateful for the solicitous care that my staff bestow upon my wife without exception. After carrying Bella back upstairs, I found a steady stream of staff offering their support to their lady. The news of her faint must have spread fast – along with the gossip about the events that triggered it, no doubt.

Mrs Clearwater closes the bedroom door behind her, and I flick the latch down. I am tired, and my muscles ache. I stretch my arms up to the ceiling, yawning as the cricks undo themselves in my spine.

"Your poor back, Edward, carrying me up and down stairs all day long. Come here and lie next to me."

I do not need to be asked twice. I stretch out on my front next to Bella, my head turned to the side so that I can examine her face. She leans over and begins to tickle and scratch at my back with long, patterned sweeps of her fingernails. The feeling is heavenly.

"It is your body I should be caressing, my Love. But this feels too good to stop you."

She smiles sweetly at me. "Let me show you love, Edward. I do not have the energy for much, but I can do this for you."

"I feel like purring like a cat. You are not angry with me then?"

Bella looks confused. "Why would I be angry with you?"

"Because I kept something from you. I did not tell you about your parents. Please don't stop."

Her fingers resume their pattern. I wonder whether I should take my shirt off.

"Perhaps there are some things I am happier not knowing. I understand that you were protecting me. I think Rose may be upset, but in all honesty, Edward, I learnt early on that knowledge can be a curse as well as a blessing." She shifts on her side so that she faces me fully. "My father can be violent and rough and cruel, but I find it hard to believe he is capable of murder." Tears fill her eyes.

"I refuse to speculate on what your mother meant, and so must you. Put it out of your mind now. You will hear more in the morning."

"Yes. You are right. You look very handsome in your cravat."

I smile at her change of topic. "Why thank you. It was a gift from my wife. She told me the green silk would bring out my eyes."

"Your wife is a wise woman. You have lovely eyes."

I reach out and stroke her cheek with my thumb. "All the better to see you with, my dear."

She grins. "And your ears are very well-proportioned, Sir."

"All the better to hear the sweet sounds you make, my dear." I poke her in the ticklish spot at her waist, and she snorts a little shriek – if such a thing is possible. I laugh at her blush.

She runs the second and third fingers of her hand across my lower lip, until I open my mouth and bite them, following her playful lead.

"And what strong teeth you have, my Lord." Her voice sounds a little breathless, just how I like it.

I take hold of her hand and gently suck her fingers into my mouth, swirling my tongue around them. I pull them back out of my mouth slowly, and place a kiss on the centre of her palm. Leaning forward, I whisper in her ear, "All the better to eat you with, my dear."

Bella giggles as my breath tickles her.

"How do you feel?" I ask.

"Wanton," she replies with a naughty smile.

"Let me worship you with my body, woman," I growl, like the wolf I am pretending to be.

"Anything your heart desires, Husband. Anything at all."

My breath catches in my throat at the sex in Bella's voice. "Are you certain? Because you were not well not so long ago."

"I am certain. These past few days, I have had such a feeling in my belly – I have never experienced the like before. I ache for you, Edward."

My cock is so hard I think it may burst through my breeches to get at her by itself. "Show me. Where do you ache for me?" I loosen the silk tie around my neck as I wait for her answer.

She does not hesitate. She draws her night gown up her beautiful bare legs, until her sex is exposed. "Here,"she whispers. She takes my hand and runs it down her belly until I reach the apex of her thighs. When I dip my fingers between her lips, she is shockingly wet.

I lean forward to kiss her as my two fingers stroke between her folds. "You _are_ wanton, my Love," I whisper against her mouth, and she moans quietly back. "I will take care of you, Bella. Let me soothe that ache for you." I push my fingers hard inside of her, and she arches her back, pressing against me.

I must find that woman from the market at Lynn and thank her in some way. This fennel has worked like magic. I hope we have sufficient for the duration of Bella's pregnancy.

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I have a feeling that Bella and I will be the only cheerful couple at breakfast today. I whistle as I shave, and my wife picks up my tune and sings while she attends to her own ablutions. What a happy pair we make.

Bella picks up my discarded clothing and lays it on the end of the bed. "You will have to wear a different cravat today, Edward. This one will need to be laundered."

"Well, that is not so surprising." I grin as I recall our games from the previous evening.

"Edward..."

I drop my razor and pat my face dry with a towel as I saunter up to my wife, slapping her bottom playfully. She jumps. "Yes, Love?" I nuzzle into her neck, which smells glorious this morning.

"You do not find me too forward?"

"What kind of question is that?" I continue to nuzzle. I am beginning to harden again, which is astonishing really.

"I am not sure that it is quite proper for me to enjoy your..."

"My what?" I reach around and pinch her nipple through the fabric of her petticoat.

"I mean, do other wives...oh, I like that...do other wives enjoy their husband's attentions as much as I do yours?"

I can feel her heavy blush on my cheek. "I have no idea, Bella. I have no interest in any other wives. You are wholly captivating, believe me."

"But Edward..."

"Yes?"

"Do other wives ask their husbands to take them? Because I do not have that impression..."

I spin Bella around so that she faces me, and capture her scarlet face in my hands. "You will make me the happiest husband that ever walked the Earth if you continue to ask me to take you, Isabella Masen. Wherever and whenever you want, I am at your service. Nothing you say or do will make you too forward. Nothing." I kiss her for emphasis, and she melts against me.

When we can breathe again, I take her to sit on the end of the bed. "When we were apart, Isabella, I had the strangest fantasy."

"Really? What do you mean?"

"I imagined that you were in complete control in the bedroom. You took charge of me – you even punished me."

Bella looks shocked. "I would never punish you Edward! Never, ever, ever." She shakes her head as though to rid herself of an unpleasant image.

"No, and I am glad of that. I do not think I would like it at all. I think it was the guilt talking."

"What guilt?"

I sigh. "The guilt I felt at how I treated you; at letting you return to Forbrigg without me – so many things."

"Well, you needn't feel guilty any more, because I punished you for it in your dream."

"Yes; never again, thank you. But what I mean to say is that the reality of you asking me to take care of you – you taking charge of initiating sex – was far, far superior to my imagination. I sincerely hope you will do that again."

"I could be persuaded."

"Excellent. But no spanking me, mind."

Bella's mouth drops open comically. "I spanked you?"

"You did indeed, and I didn't like it. At least, I did at the time, but not immediately afterwards."

Bella is stunned into silence. I kiss her nose, and jump up to continue dressing, resuming my whistling.

Ten minutes later, Bella still sits at the foot of the bed. "Get dressed, Angel. We will be late."

"I do not think I am an angel, Edward."

"No?"

"No. No angel."

"Why not?"

"I think I must be quite wicked."

"_Wicked_? What thoughts run through your mind. Why are you wicked, Isabella?"

"Because the thought of being naughty and having you spank _me_ brought that ache right back again. And now I want to be late for breakfast."

I reach down and pull Bella up by her hand, bringing her in close to my embrace. "You are a very wicked girl, and I will have to hold on to that enticing thought. But it is two hours since you ate, and if you do not come down to breakfast right now, I do not believe you will come down at all. And I _do_ believe you are attempting to forestall your parents' explanation. Correct me if I am wrong."

Her down-turned mouth is all the answer I require – and receive.

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Bella's movements decrease in speed exponentially as we near the dining room.

"Are you all right, Sweetheart?"

She shakes her head, lips drawn tightly closed in her pale face, tears threatening to spill over her eyelids.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling sick?"

She nods, shakes, nods again; I hate the helplessness I feel in the face of her distress.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath and leans her head into my chest. "I am scared. I am so scared of finding out what happened to my parents. If I stay outside of this room, I need never know. I may continue as before, innocent of their crimes. But the moment I enter, I will have committed myself to hearing everything, and I will never be able to look upon them in the same way again."

I bend my head so that I can look into Bella's eyes. She is stronger than this, I know she is. "Isabella, you have known your entire life that your parents' relationship is based on fear. You have the opportunity now to uncover the root of all that has poisoned them. How could knowledge of what has befallen them be worse than ignorance of their actions?"

"Easily. If my father is a murderer, would you have him hang?" Her voice is quiet but fierce.

"Would you?" I respond gently.

I can see in her eyes that there is no answer to that question.

"Bella, not knowing has hurt you in so many ways over the years. In order to hide the truth, your father denied you your rightful place in church and in society; he has physically abused you and your sisters, and what is worse, he allowed his friend to abuse you too. He is so full of anger, and he has no safe method of release. You and I have learned the harm that keeping the truth from one another causes. Your father needs to confess, and you deserve to have the story revealed."

My little speech causes Bella to tense and quieten for a minute or two. I feel it in her body when she makes her decision, before she confirms it in words. "Yes. You are right, Edward. I trust your judgement." She takes my hand and presses it to her cool cheek. "But you must promise to hold me in some manner throughout the confession. Do you promise?"

"I do. That's my brave girl. Now, chin up; after you, my Love." I gesture for her to enter the dining room ahead of me, but keep my hand on her waist.

Warm sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating the tense, drawn faces of our entire family. We greet each other quietly, and I solicitously seat Isabella close beside my chair at the head of the table.

"Would you like to say grace, Jasper?" I ask.

He agrees. His prayer is not for the food we are about to eat. "May the Lord bless our family, and keep them safe. May He grant us wisdom, understanding and the ability to listen to one another without judgement. We ask for the courage to confess our sins, and for the capacity to forgive the trespasses of those we love. Amen."

We add our heartfelt responses, and I turn to my wife, taking hold of her hand. "Before anyone says anything of importance, you are going to eat. I would prefer not to have to carry you back out of here again. I will feed you if I have to." I smile reassuringly at her, but my wife knows I am serious. She reaches for her cutlery.

Jasper turns to Alice. "Actually, I will say the same thing to you. I am quite aware that you ate nothing last night."

Alice is more reluctant to obey Jasper, and slowly serves herself a small portion of kedgeree.

"Well, I'm starving," says Em cheerfully. He piles food onto Rose's plate before helping himself to a very hearty serving of everything. He triggers a modicum of normality, and we all tuck in to the bountiful breakfast.

Swan watches the interactions around him with the air of an explorer living with an undiscovered tribe. He offers servings of a couple of dishes to Wren – Genevieve - will we change what we call her now? She is careful in her response, politely accepting a small amount of whatever he offers, turning nothing down and asking for nothing. I wonder how they have spent their night.

I keep touching Bella. She asked for my physical reassurance, and I give it to her unreservedly. I stroke her face, squeeze her shoulder and her hand, place my hand on her knee; it is inconvenient for the purposes of eating, but it is what she needs. When I am satisfied she has taken in enough food to sustain her, I clear my throat. It is a signal the whole family understands, and they turn to face me as one.

"Charles, Genevieve – I believe we are ready to hear your story now. Please begin."

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_**I know, I know – another cliffie. Listen, gentle readers, next chapter is going to be a little harrowing. You need to be prepared. I apologise in advance.**_

_**A couple of notes about last chapter. Em is demanding in the bedroom, but he does not, and will never, play away from home. (It's Twilight fanfiction, that's why – these men follow their own standards of behaviour, not those of the era). Jasper is seven years younger than his brother. As to how far along the pregnancies are, I know, but the characters don't, which is why you don't. In this era, there was no sure way to calculate due dates. There were a few very subtle hints early on to indicate that Swan didn't feed his family or staff very well unless they had visitors he was trying to impress; malnourishment led to small girls with irregular periods, something fairly common for the time.**_

_**I loved hearing what sex you want the baby to be, and why. This week's question: if Charles is a murderer, should Edward report him to the crown? **_

_**Talk to me on Twitter sometime. I'm Gingerandgreen there too.**_

_**Love you. xxx**_


	20. Chapter 19 Til Death Us Do Part

_**I would love to know what Stephenie Meyer thought of this chapter. Ah well.**_

_**I dedicate this episode of PTMT to fathers who try to be good role models for their daughters and – especially – their sons.**_

_**I was frightened to give this chapter to my team to read. You know the myth about some cultures believing photographs contain a little piece of the model's soul? I don't know about pictures, but I think stories might contain little pieces of soul, and this part here contains quite a bit of mine. But as always, MM, Cared and Perry were magnificent. There are no words adequate to express my thanks.**_

_**Gentle readers, last time I warned you this would be harrowing. This chapter contains graphic scenes and death. It's important, though. Come on, take my hand...**_

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**Chapter 19 – Till Death Us Do Part**

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Swan's head is in his hands. All eyes are on him, reflecting varying degrees of expectation and trepidation. He moves suddenly to thump my table with his fist, and every woman in the room flinches.

Em, Jasper, and I exchange glances. We all reach for the girls we love, but I am not satisfied with hand holding; I pull Isabella out of her chair and into my lap. She clutches my hand and leans into my embrace.

"I am no good at this." Swan stands – for a moment I am concerned he will storm out again – and begins to pace around the room behind us.

I recognise his need to be active in the face of stress, so I leave him be. If we are patient, he will begin.

His feet halt at the sideboard on his third pass. He pours himself a generous helping of whiskey and downs it in one go. He refills his glass before returning to his chair. To my great surprise, he picks up Wren's hand and holds onto it tightly. She does not attempt to withdraw.

"All right. Look. William Black and I grew up together. At least, he was a few years older than I – still is, of course. But we were thrown together a great deal because of the amount of time Lord Black spent on the estate my father managed. William was meant to be under the supervision of a tutor, but the man was a gad-about." He shakes his head, as though the weight of memory brings him pain.

I stroke Bella's knuckles with my thumb. She shifts slightly on my lap, and her firm bottom presses into my thighs. I attempt to rein my arousal in – now is hardly the time.

Em pours Rose some wine, diluting it with water before placing the glass in the hand that is not clasped with his. She smiles gratefully at him as Swan continues.

"Anyway, we spent much of our youth getting into trouble, for which I always took the blame, because Black lived in mortal fear of his father." He chuckles, rather bleakly I think. "I cannot tell you how many whippings I endured for the boy. But he paid me back. He always paid me back."

"How? How did he repay you?" Wren's question is a whisper, but the room is so quiet we hear her quite clearly.

Swan turns to face her. "By including me. When the group got together, he could have turned his back on me, pretended I was just a local ragamuffin. But he did not – he gave me clothes, he gave me money; he knew I loved you, and he kept me close so that I could be with you."

She shakes her head at him. Her voice is still the gentlest whisper. "No, that is not why. He kept you close for Sarah. It was Sarah he wanted, always. Not you."

Swan looks stricken. "Sarah? Of course he wanted Sarah. But he needed _me_, too. "

"Who is Sarah?" I am surprised that it is Alice who asked first. The girl is such a contradiction of foolhardy bravery and mouse-like fear.

"My sister. Sarah was my sister." Swan looks at Alice intently when he answers her.

"What happened to her?"

"That is the story I am trying to tell you."

"Please continue. Em, pass the wine around will you?" I have dismissed the serving staff. I do not particularly want to spread gossip around the estate if I can avoid it.

We refill our glasses as Charles continues.

"We spent two winters on the fringes of a rather wild social group. I had to take Sarah with me wherever I went because her mother was dead and my father refused to be troubled by either of us. He entrusted her to my care, but she was very young, a child really. I knew William was besotted with her, and I could not comprehend why until I met Genevieve." He turns to look at her, but her eyes are downcast. "Genny and Sarah became very close, and Black and I would sneak them away from the others every chance we could."

He wipes his face with his free hand and reaches for his glass, draining the amber liquid once more. Jasper stretches behind himself for the crystal decanter and passes it across Wren's head. He puts it down in front of Swan, who looks back at my brother gratefully. Charles removes the stopper and refills his glass with one hand; the other still grips the small fingers of the miserable woman by his side.

"We had far too much freedom. I don't know what that tutor was paid to teach my friend, but the lessons he actually taught him would have driven Lord Black into a murderous frenzy had he known. Lord Black is a highly devout man. During those years, William rejected his teaching by behaving very badly without his knowledge. It was not hard to fool the old man because he could not begin to fathom the depravity that surrounded him."

Swan picks up his knife and fiddles with the handle with anxious fingers. I pull Bella closer into me in anticipation of an unpleasant turn to his words. My hand splays across her belly, as though I can protect the child within from the sordidness we are being exposed to.

Charles turns to look at me, then Em. "Never trust a tutor. Never employ one. It seems that breaking one's employer's trust is inherent to the job."

We all glance at Rose. She looks pale, very pale, but her father's words bring an unhealthy flush to her cheeks. Her eyes remain firmly on the table, and her resemblance to her mother is a little disturbing. Em places his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close to him.

Charles continues, his voice quieter now, as though confessing his sins will go better for him if he makes little noise.

"I did nothing to protect my sister from my friend. I thought him more important than her. She was so young, it did not cross my mind that anything would come of it; but even if it had occurred to me, I would have done nothing to prevent it. I was enjoying myself far too much. Genny had no one to protect her from me, either."

He looks at his daughters, first Rose, then Bella, almost glaring at them both. "You may think I was cruel, keeping you away from everyone and everything. But I did it to protect you. I made certain that no one could hurt you. You were both to remain intact until your wedding night, and everything I did, I did to ensure your safety. If it wasn't for that fucking prick..."

"Swan! Calm yourself..."

"Father, please..."

"Sir Charles, watch..."

A chorus of protest arises, drowning out the rest of my father-in-law's words.

"Enough!" I raise my voice above them all, and silence falls. "Charles, please moderate your language in front of the ladies. I must challenge you on your point of view. Granted, the tutor in your home broke your trust in a manner which must have been devastating to all of you. If you could have prevented the occurrence, you would have, I know. But it is _not_ true at all that you kept your daughters from harm. You allowed William Black to abuse his position in your family lamentably. What he did, how he behaved towards Isabella, was inexcusable; and yet, you excused him. Repeatedly. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Swan now looks thunderous. "I _did_ protect Isabella from him."

He turns his eyes, beady with intensity, to his youngest daughter. "I did protect you, Isabella, believe me. If he had been allowed to, he would have taken you as soon as you came of age at twelve. If promising you to him later kept him from harming you as a child, which it did, then I was right to do it. He was never permitted to be anywhere near you without supervision. He may have been a harsh taskmaster, but he taught you well. He gave you the benefits of an education I never had, and you must be grateful to him for that. It caught you a lord, despite everything! Poor William. All those hours devoted to your upbringing, and it caught you a lord before he could ever be one."

Bella's body stiffens during this little tirade. I can feel her urge to run and hide from her father's words in the twitches and spasms in her arms and legs. Her breathing is shallow, and I fear for her health.

"I did not set out to catch a lord, Father. I have only ever done what I was told. You wrong me when you speak of me this way. You do me wrong." Her voice is surprisingly strong, though quiet; and I am so proud of my wife.

Swan looks to me though. "Be honest, Lord Masen; if you had not heard her sing, or if she was not as graceful and well-read as she is; if she did not know how to behave in company – would you seriously have considered marrying her? A pretty face doesn't make a good wife, does it?"

I have to concede. I do so with a tilt of my head, so that Bella does not see. "Are you telling me that you permitted his abuse in order to procure an education for Isabella? All those years you were using him to groom her for another man?"

"But that is my point! He did not abuse her. I made certain that he never could."

I am baffled by his outburst until Em speaks. "I think your definitions of abuse differ wildly, gentlemen. Sir Charles is referring to dishonour, while you, Edward, have in mind violence and induced misery. Is that not so?"

Swan looks confused. I make an attempt to enlighten him. "Do you believe that the only way you can harm a woman is to take away her virtue? You have no comprehension at all that how you behave towards your family is wrong, do you?"

Silence falls. Charles is genuinely baffled; he clearly does not know how to reply.

It is Rose who breaks the spell. "Why Bella, Father? Why did Mr Black choose Bella? I – we - could never understand. Why not me?"

Once again, Wren surprises me by replying. I begin to wonder whether she has always followed conversation as astutely as she does now, merely hiding her response from us all.

"You do not resemble Sarah at all, Rose. My Bella is Sarah resurrected." She turns to look lovingly at her youngest daughter. "You came back to give us all a second chance. We all wanted to do things differently this time."

Another stunned silence fills the room, alive and menacing in its intensity.

"My Lord, I feel ill," murmurs Bella into my neck, where she has turned to hide her face from the family's stares. The use of my title alerts me to the fact that my wife seeks my protection, more than the soft tone of her voice.

I push my chair back from the table. "Isabella needs to rest. I suggest we adjourn for two hours. We will meet back in the blue drawing room at four. " I allow no time for argument. I rise with Bella in my arms and leave the room, heading for the kitchen garden. A little fresh air and normality will restore my wife's equilibrium, I think.

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The sky is white with cloud, and the air is humid, stifling even in the kitchen garden. Bella and I stroll hand-in-hand on the stone path between the herbs. We must walk very slowly in order not to disturb my wife's stomach; but the fragrant lavender air brings a little colour back into her cheeks.

"If we have a daughter, will we call her Elizabeth, after your mother?"

A broad smile breaks across my face; I cannot contain my pleasure at Bella's suggestion. "That would please me tremendously, Sweetheart."

"I can see that." She smiles happily back at me, pausing to snap the mauve flower off a deep green stem, rolling the tiny petals between her fingers until they are coated in the heady oil. She lifts them to my nose, and I breathe in appreciatively.

"And if it is a son in there?"

"Edward," she says decidedly. "He will take after his father - and his father's father. Edward Carlisle." She looks at me shyly, gauging my reaction. "At least, I would like to honour Mr Cullen, too. Would you mind?"

"Not at all. I always looked up to Carlisle. He was my mentor when my father passed away. I would be proud to name my son after him."

We stroll on a little further. "I wonder how your parents chose your names? Listening to your mother, I am surprised you are not named Sarah, for your aunt."

"That was strange, was it not? My mother has always favoured me, and I did not know why until today. My father favoured me too, and then I had too much attention from Mr Black. A person could wither under unwarranted attention." She smiles wryly.

"You are immensely strong, my love. I do not believe that either Rose or Alice would have survived your upbringing."

"They had much to endure too! Do not think for one moment that I was alone with my burdens, Edward. We protected one another as well as we could."

"I know; and I do not mean to belittle their experience. But of the three of you, Bella, you are the one forged of steel. Rose and Alice would have crumbled without you."

"I resemble my father in character more than I care to admit. It is he I have inherited my backbone from."

"Perhaps that is true, Bella. But there is a gentleness to your soul, and a kind warmth within you that draws people to you – my staff, for instance. I have never known such harmony in my household, and it is due to you."

She scoffs gently and kicks at a pebble with her shoe; an act that requires intense attention, apparently. I lift her chin to look into her eyes. There are tears there.

"You have listened to horrid revelations for hours today, and it is my praise that brings tears to your eyes? No more crying, Bella. No matter what has occurred in the past, you are under my protection now. You belong to me, and I take very good care of what is mine. You cannot deny it."

She sniffs delicately and laughs a little through her tears. "You certainly do take very good care of me, my Lord and Husband. Thank you." She reaches up to stroke my face lovingly, and I press my cheek into her hand.

"Come on then. Time to face the music again. Climb on." I kneel down and offer Bella my back.

I will be all things to my beautiful wife, chariot included.

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As we pass the closed dining-room door, I hear giggles and rustling – the distinct noises of an illicit tryst. It will not be the first time I have caught young staff misbehaving, and I dare say it will not be the last. At times I find it tedious to have to play the role of strict and stern master in order to keep the youngsters safe. But on an emotionally draining day like this one, I find I am merely amused at the prospect.

I put Bella down, motioning with fingers to my lips for her to be quiet. She smiles in agreement as I creep towards the door.

I can hear a muffled male voice groaning and murmuring. This should be good. As quietly as I am able, I turn the door handle. As soon as the latch is completely open, I throw the door wide and take one stride into the room.

"What the devil is going..." My loud admonishment stops in its tracks at the sight before me. "Jasper Masen, what the hell do you think you are playing at?"

He stands with his back to me, frantically refastening his breeches while attempting to shield Alice – it must be Alice – as she scrambles out of sight below the table.

"Heavens above, Edward, could you give a man a moment?" He looks over his shoulder at me, flushing scarlet as he spots Bella, who has poked her head under my arm.

"Are you quite well, Jasper?" asks Bella, her voice wickedly teasing in its innocence. "You look a little hot. We heard moaning and wondered whether you were all right."

He turns to face us, smoothing down his waistcoat and shirt. Unfortunately for Jasper, he has miss-buttoned his breeches. A corner of white shirt pokes through a buttonhole. I try to avert my eyes, but it is difficult. I want to laugh so badly, my face hurts.

"I am well, thank you, Bella. Just a little hot. It is hot in here, is it not? I was – er - am looking for something. I dropped it, and I was bending to look for it, and with the heat, you know..." he trails off.

"Was it a button you lost?" she asks.

If I did not know her so well, I would have no idea how wickedly my wife was teasing my brother.

"A button? Yes, yes, I have lost the button from my, er, my..."

"Your breeches?"

Her question causes Jasper to glance down and notice his state of undress. He flushes anew, quickly turning his back to stuff his shirt back in and readjust his attire.

"Perhaps Alice has found it under the table?" I cannot resist.

We all hear her gasp. Jasper covers his face with his hands.

Bella crouches down to peer under the table. "Did you find Jasper's button, Alice?"

I am impressed by how dirty she can make a simple question sound, in a voice that could melt butter.

"Bella!" Alice's voice emerges as something between a cry and a strangled whisper.

"Well, don't leave Alice to do your dirty work, Jasper. Get down on your knees and help her look for your button!" I can barely contain my mirth as he obeys my command, dropping to the floor like a petitioner to the King.

I offer Bella my hand and pull her back to a standing position.

"Do be quick about it, you two. We are due back in the drawing room now. We will wait for you there."

We leave the room, pulling the door closed behind us, before breaking out into peals of laughter.

I needed that entertainment. Though I know I should be angry, the look of mortification on my brother's face has appeased me utterly.

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Unsurprisingly, Alice and Jasper are the last to enter the drawing room.

"Did you find Mr Masen's button, Alice?" asks Rose from her seat on her husband's lap.

Em laughs uproariously at the scowl on both Jasper and Alice's faces. Bella and I could not rein our laughter in when he and Rose found us in the hallway outside the drawing room. We were forced to reveal its source. Bella can keep nothing from her sister.

Swan looks at them in confusion, but Wren – Genevieve – is as passive in her demeanour as ever.

The newly arrived couple settle themselves down in chairs close to one another. With no table to separate us, we feel exposed and vulnerable. Bella had chosen a low upholstered stool at the foot of an armchair and patted the seat next to her until I took it. I did not understand why until I saw how she hid herself from her father behind my spread thigh.

I pull her head into my leg, gently stroking her face and hair. I turn to my father-in-law.

"Are you ready to continue?"

"No. But I will. Where did I get to?" Surprisingly, this question is addressed to Wren.

"You have not told them what you did to Sarah yet," she responds, addressing her toes.

"No. I have not." Charles looks around the room, his eyes settling on a portrait of my grandmother before he continues.

He sighs. "I suppose what transpired was inevitable. Sarah became noticeably pregnant. You could not tell when she was dressed because fashion at the time hid much; but eventually, we could deny it to ourselves no longer. William could not do right by her, because his father would disinherit him. We had no choice, really. We kept it to ourselves and made a plan for the baby to be taken to a convent nearby, where she would be raised anonymously. The Black family made regular donations to the church, so it was relatively easy for William to ensure a large donation was made to cover the child's upkeep. All that mattered was that we conceal the truth until the baby could be taken away."

What shocks me most is the complete acceptance Swan expresses over the callous and despicable behaviour of his friend towards his sister.

"You did not tell your father? Would he not have insisted Black marry her, after what he did?"

"Good God, no. My father would no more have expected Lord Black's son to marry his daughter than the moon to fall from the sky. No, Sarah would have been sent away, and William could not bear that, no more than I could bear to be parted from my Genny Wren."

For the first time, the term of endearment he uses sounds sickening to my ears. I decide to only use her full name in my thoughts from now on.

"What happened to her?" asks Alice. She has clearly understood the implications of Swan's tale.

Swan hides from us again, in a gesture I begin to recognise in the man. He places his head in his hands and addresses his knees. We have to strain to hear him.

"We brought a girl in from the village to look after her. She was a young thing, but she came from a large family and had experience of assisting at a birth. She was wet, having recently lost a child herself, and as an unmarried mother, had compassion for my sister. We were grateful to have found her when we did. It was that damned tutor who told us about her, so I suppose he was the father. She saw escaping to a convent as a blessing, from what I understood."

"Oh!" exclaims Genevieve softly. "I always thought Mr Black was the sire of Ruth's baby."

Swan lifts his head to look at her. "You think many things, Wren. Very few of them are true."

His harsh tone causes her to freeze. We are all witness to how she retreats back into her shell at the first sign of displeasure from Sir Charles.

He lowers his head again, as though the interaction never took place.

"It was unfortunate that when Sarah's pain began, my father was at home, as was Lord Black in his home. We took her there because the Black House is very large, with many little-used rooms and corridors. William was forced to stay out, to distract his father. He entreated me to remain with my sister until the end. A carriage was made ready to whisk the child and her wet nurse away. The servants were kept at bay. What could go wrong?"

This last is uttered with such bitterness, it cuts the atmosphere like a knife. Bella flinches, and presses herself into my thigh. I clasp her head more tightly.

"What did go wrong, Father?" This is from Rose, who holds her hands across her small, curved belly as though cradling treasure.

"He killed her. He killed her. He murdered his own sister." Genevieve has not retreated so far from reality as to be unable to contribute her own particular madness.

"Shut up, Wren! Keep your foul mouth closed, or I'll fucking close it for you!" Swan is enraged, spittle flying as he loses his grip on his equilibrium.

I shift to the edge of my seat. "No! No, Swan, there will be none of that here under my roof."

He looks at me with wild eyes as I turn to his abject wife – not wife. Whatever she is.

"Genevieve, please do not provoke him any further. I will not allow him to hurt you, but you must let him tell his story. Please?"

She looks at me with startled, uncomprehending eyes.

The idiot begins again. "What occurred was not my fault. If I've told you that once, I've told you a thousand times, you ignorant..."

"Swan! Will you please take a moment to calm yourself and continue your tale. I will tolerate no more outbursts – not from anyone. Is that understood?" I sweep my eyes over the gathering, my only intention to draw attention away from Sir Charles as he gathers himself back together.

I make contact with every wide eye, every frightened countenance. They nod to me, one by one acknowledging my authority. I can see the relief it brings them all, to have someone take charge of the intense emotion in the room. Even Swan.

I notice when he has calmed himself and nod at him to continue. He takes a very deep breath before he does.

"You can have no idea what it was like to be in that room. Of the three of us, I could not tell you who was most frightened. I suspect Ruth had less experience than we were led to believe, as she seemed to have no clue what to do. I knew more, having watched my father lamb the sheep, than she appeared to. And as for Sarah – poor little girl. She was absolutely terrified."

He shakes his head in his hands, gripping the sparse hair there as he groans.

He pulls himself together again and looks up at me. "She was in agony. The pain went on for hours; it was relentless. She tore off her own clothes because she could not bear to have anything touch her skin. She would not let Ruth near her; she would not lie down; she would not eat or drink anything. There was vomit and shit and piss, and her screams were so loud I was astonished we remained undetected."

It is as though Swan and I are the only people in the room. His eyes are riveted on mine, and mine cannot leave his desperate face. These fearsome memories have eaten at this man for over twenty years, and suddenly I understand his uncontrollable anger. I have felt the helplessness in the face of horror that he describes, and I cannot claim to have reacted much better than he.

"It got worse. She began to scream 'get it out of me, get it out!', and her voice was terrible. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do."

I can see tears on his face.

"What did you do?" My voice is strangely soft, supportive even.

"Ruth handed me the knife. I had seen it done on the farm. You cut the sheep to save the lamb. I did not want to do it, but she was screaming at me, and Ruth was urging me on, and there was blood – and I knew I had to do it. I had to do it. I pushed her back on the bed, and she saw the knife. She was nodding frantically, begging me... So I did it. I cut her open down there, and there was _so_ much blood."

His voice breaks and he sobs. Only once, but it is clear he is in pain. I cannot help but feel compassion for this man. I lean over and grip his knee, briefly but firmly.

"Ruth pulled the baby out, and I cut the cord. I tried to stop the bleeding. I pressed cloth after cloth between her legs, but she faded before my very eyes. I watched her die. I watched her die, and I knew that William Black would never forgive me."

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_**Is everyone okay? Tell me if you need me.**_

_**Somebody sweet nominated PTMT on Tehlemonadestand last week – thank you! Maybe one day we'll make it :)**_

_**And, some very lovely people nominated PTMT for Best Lemon on the Twilight Eclipse Awards. Voting is open right now. It's such a boost to be nominated for this category – all those people who won't read historical fic may be second guessing themselves about it, don't you think? I would be immensely honoured if you voted for me. The site is awash with amazing stories, too. If you are looking for new things to read, it's the best place to go.**____**twilighteclipseawards. Blogspot . co. uk/p/vote. html**_

_**I had this story carefully planned out when I began writing it. I changed a major plot point, and suddenly I had a rebellious teenager in my head. I can't tell you how many chapters there are to go, but there are two updates due before the Twific Meet Up in Vegas, and I won't be finished by then. If you come and meet me, you could influence the end, you never know!**_

_**Are you reading High Fidelity by IReen_H? It's beautiful, isn't it? The usual site, plus this: /s/7771737/1/High_Fidelity Talk to me about it on Twitter - Gingerandgreen.**_


	21. Chapter 20 Hallowed Be Thy Name

_**Meyer, your story tapped into a piece of our psyche that we don't often admit exists. Thank you.**_

_**And thank you to my radiantly beautiful team. You know who they are by now. Unfortunately, real life prevented me from getting this chapter to sweet Perry on time. I'm so sorry. Mistakes and misplaced commas are my fault.**_

_**MM is currently reeling off a list of good folk to dedicate this chapter to, including Open Source software developers and civil servants. He's right – those people, and all the others he mentioned, deserve my recognition.**_

_**But I am going to dedicate this chapter to the adults with difficulties and disabilities who live unsupported in our world. Be a good neighbour, gentle reader.**_

_**If you were somewhere on the autistic spectrum in 1795, who would know?**_

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**Chapter 20 – Hallowed Be Thy Name**

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"_I watched her die, and I knew that William Black would never forgive me__."_

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Swan's muffled sobs disturb the silence, which surrounds and penetrates the rest of us like the damp Norfolk light through the picture windows.

Bella stirs before my clarity quite returns. She rises stiffly, and seats herself beside her father, taking his hand with an expression of duty upon her face. He does not see, for his eyes remain downcast; but he grips her tightly, gratefully, and she attempts to soothe him – good daughter that she is.

I feel quite ill.

Genevieve – the woman who by all rights should be in Bella's place right now – sits as blankly as she ever has.

Em clings tightly to Rose, but looks towards me. We share a consternated grimace. Two husbands with pregnant wives, faced with such a tale. What are we to do with this knowledge? How do men act, in the face of such agony?

And, Alice – my cousin and I turn to look at her, as though the thought strikes us simultaneously.

Poor Alice.

Her body twitches as though inclined to run away; but her face expresses a misery that may never allow her to move from this place again. Her feet are firmly planted on the floor. They could raise her into a pugilistic stance, or keep her anchored in her seat. The urge to fight and the urge to flee war within her so clearly, her body is akin to a newspaper report, publishing her internal struggle for all to read.

My brother looks as perturbed and at a loss as Em and I. As always, it is up to me to take charge.

I rise and pour a glass of sweet port wine. Taking it over to her, I crouch down at Alice's feet. I place the glass in her chilled fingers. There is a wild look in her eyes as she stares at me through tears.

"Are you all right, Alice?"

She answers with a shake and nod combined, and I take it that she is not all right, but I am grateful for any response at all.

I take her other hand in mine and squeeze gently. "We are all here, Sweetheart. You are not alone."

She nods properly this time. I squeeze her hand again and place it in Jasper's warm grip. He raises her hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it, before holding it to his cheek.

I am still on my knees when Genevieve comes alive.

"No!" she exclaims.

I almost topple backwards in fright.

"No, no, no, no, no. That is not what occurred. Why are you lying? You promised me you would reveal the truth, why do you lie?"

She sounds so unhinged.

Swan tears his hand away from Bella and shakes his finger at the woman he has shared his whole life with. "Don't you accuse me, woman! Don't you accuse me! You were not there, you did not see, you do not bear my burdens – you only add to them!"

Hi spits this last at her with such venom that she raises her hands as though to ward him off.

I shake away my shock, and rise to place myself between the pair, in case they do come to blows. "Now now, hush now. This is not how it goes."

I turn to face Genevieve. I speak softly, so as not to intimidate her. "We have listened openly to a shocking tale, and we are all affected by it. I cannot credit your accusations in the face of what was told – indeed, how it was told. But I assure you, Genevieve, if you wish to tell it from your point of view, we are all ears. We will not stop you. Only, speak your truth. It does no good to lay blame. Can you tell us your story?"

I fear she is withdrawing from us as I speak. The blankness returns to her features slowly, as though a mask is painted there by a faery, or a fiend.

"Mama, please." Rose rises – not without difficulty – from Em's tight grasp, and takes her place at her mother's side.

One daughter per parent, neither one thrilled to perform her role, but each necessary to the task.

"Please Mama. Do not hide away. Why do you think my father lies? Who told you what happened? Did he tell you? Did my father tell you a different tale? We must know the truth, Mama. Can you not see?"

Awareness creeps back as Genevieve and Rose lock eyes together.

"I made a promise, Rose. I can never tell. Awful things will happen to you all if I break my word. I cannot speak. I am not meant to speak. When I do, bad, bad things happen. Always, they happen. He knows, he always knows. No, I must not speak."

As though her last words end a play, the curtain descends and Genevieve is no longer present; though her physical body remains, her spirit has left her empty.

I turn furiously to Swan. "What promise? What have you done to her? Why does she think you are lying? What the hell is going on, man?"

I hold my hand out to Bella – I want her away from the cold fool she comforts. She rises obediently, and comes to me.

Swan looks blankly after her.

"What promise? What promise? She has made no promises to me. She rarely speaks to me at all..." He trails off, deep in thought.

"She does not speak to anyone," Bella tells me, awareness dawning in her eyes. "She never has. It is Mr Black she fears. I thought it was you, Father – all this time I thought it was you she fears, but that is not so, is it Mama?" She drops to her knees in front of her mother, taking the hand that Rose does not hold. "It is Mr Black who made you promise, is it not? Tell me I am wrong, Mama. Shake your head if I am wrong."

Genevieve's head remains rigidly still.

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Eventually, we go to bed. The evening is still young, but we can no longer tolerate one-another's presence, so we retire to our rooms to sup in pairs.

Only Jasper and Alice must part, and both feel the injustice. I suspect neither will be alone for long. I cannot control everything. I only hope that when he comforts, my brother is careful and aware.

I imagine, after today, Jasper will be frightened half to death of the consequences of relations out of wedlock.

My wife sleeps. The sun has not yet quite set, but she was exhausted. She managed her soup before laying her head down to rest, knowing the consequences of sleeping on an empty stomach.

She is so beautiful in sleep. Her dark hair spills over the white linen – she had not the energy to braid it. By the time the maid came to assist her, she lay deep in her dreams.

Her lips pout softly. She is in that stage of slumber when mumbles pass between them. Soon she will speak intelligible words, but her drowsy sentences rarely hold sense.

Is it wrong that I watch her so? She requires a great deal more rest than I, and my favourite pastime is to watch her dream. To know that this precious woman belongs to me; that she can rest so securely in my bed while I keep lookout – it does something to my heart. She is so vulnerable, yet so fearless in my keeping. I love to watch her sleep.

But tonight I need more.

As the sun slips down into the horizon, I feel my strength slip away with it. Twilight brings the demons out to play, and I feel my own vulnerability rise to the surface like the moon into the sky. I do not want to be alone.

I undress, and slip between the covers naked. Bella breathes deeply, and pushes her small hips back into my body's embrace. I rest my nose in the gap between her nightgown and her hair, and inhale the bewitching scent of her flesh. She mumbles again.

Nuzzling her hair away from her neck, I begin to kiss and suck at her soft skin. The hand I am not lying upon reaches down her legs to find the hem of her gown. I pull and push it upwards until her hip is bare under my palm.

She responds to my wandering hand with sleepy pleasure. Her uppermost thigh pushes forward so that her sex is open to me, and her bottom pushes rhythmically and gently into my aching groin.

But I want more.

"Bella," I whisper into her ear, the wind from my breath making her cringe and squirm. "Bella, wake up. I need you."

She turns to me, eyes blinking sleepily in the half-light. Her soft smile, the one that means she loves me, plays on her lips.

"Here I am, Edward."

"Take off your gown. I need to see you. All of you."

She pauses – a bashful pause, not disobedience or reluctance. I stroke her face to reassure her. She ought not be shy still – I have seen her naked countless times. Perhaps something in my voice arrests her.

"Please, Bella. I need you. I need to see you."

She nods, and sits to untie and lift her lacy nightdress. She is still so small, but if my eyes do not deceive me, I believe I see the beginnings of a tiny bulge in her belly. As the gown covers her face, I swiftly bend and kiss her there.

My child. My son or daughter lives within this precious casing.

I take the gown from her hands and discard it on the bedroom floor.

"Lie down." I push the sheets away so that the mattress is our bare canvass. "That's it – lie here, and spread your legs open, so that I may kneel between them."

She does as I ask. And oh, Lord above, she is exquisite.

Her hair; her eyes; her mouth. The gentle curve of her shoulders. Her soft nipples harden slightly under my gaze, as though my eyes have touched them.

Her waist curves in, and her hips curve out in their womanly way. Her sweet navel adorns her midsection like a prize, a winning rosette for being born; for surviving.

Her sex beneath her dark curls is exposed and open to me – her husband. This secret place that only I have been. She opens it for me, none other, and I am most blessed for the favour.

I bend and kiss her there, and she moans, pushing herself up into my eager mouth. She is wet, and I want her, but I want her pleasure first.

I open my mouth wide and suck her in. I want to posses her. I begin a frenzy here between her legs, devouring her with teeth and tongue and lips. I suck and soothe; fuck and taste; lick and swirl. I am relentless, and hold her legs wide apart with firm hands on her squirming thighs.

When she releases, it is with a guttural groan that comes from some place deep inside her soul. The sound makes my cock dance, and before she has finished her undulating movements, I am inside her.

I push myself deep into her wet, warm place, the ridges of her flesh surrounding me blissfully as I grab hold of her hands and cover her mouth with mine.

I kiss her aggressively, thrusting my tongue into her mouth just as I thrust into her below. She moans into the kiss, and meets me with her hips at every fuck. Her breasts push into my bare chest, and I am a beast, but she is part animal too.

I own this woman. She is mine; _my wife_. She belongs to me. Only God can take her away, and He will have _me_ to answer to when He does. He had better take me first, because this is _my_ woman; and I am hers.

I am so completely and utterly hers.

I release inside of her before I am ready to, with an incoherent shout; and Bella joins me with her own sweet cry – almost a sob, a plea to the heavens and my name. My name on her lips in her ecstasy.

"Please God," I pray, "Do not take my wife away from me. Please."

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I wake very early in the morning, almost embarrassed at my emotional outburst the night before. In the light of day, I hope that God does not hold my desperate prayers against me.

I smile at the glorious sight beside me. Naked Bella, stretched out across the bed, the sunrise playing patterns on her pale skin, bestowing a rosy tint I imagine some artists would kill for.

I kiss her temple, and cover her with the sheet. I will pay my estate some attention before dealing with its current occupants.

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I find Jasper at the stableyard.

"How is Alice? I was concerned about her last night," I ask.

Jasper shakes his head. "She is resigned, for now. She told me that the events Swan described seemed very far apart from her, as though they were experienced by other people entirely. She can barely think of her own mother."

"She is certain then, that she is the babe taken to the convent? The child of Sarah and William?"

"Oh, there is no doubt. From what she has pieced together, and from Sir Charles' own account, there is no doubt at all."

"I was thinking about Genevieve, and what she meant," I say.

"Naturally. I dwelt on it all night myself."

Jasper does look hollow-eyed.

"You recall our wedding? The ridiculous sermon Black gave?"

"I do. It was entirely inappropriate. I was surprised at your patience."

"I had my prize at my side, Jasper. I was inclined to give the loser his pyrrhic victory."

"But you are reconsidering his actions in the light of what you have heard?"

"He was intimidated by me for some reason, but I do not think that was an oft felt emotion for him. I think he is the sort of man to use his religious fervour to intimidate, dominate and control others. "

"I see. Yes, I can imagine... And you think he held this kind of power over..."

"All of them. Swan, Genevieve, the girls – Sarah."

"Perhaps Genevieve made a promise to Black that she would never speak..."

"And she took it literally..."

"And he was always there to reinforce the threat. The fiend!"

Jasper's exclamation is out of character for him. That he came to the same conclusion as I, as quickly as he did, proves its validity.

"We need to persuade Genevieve to speak. She could shed so much more light on the situation," he says.

"Do you think, with your training, you could overcome Black's teaching? His threats?"

My brother rubs his chin. "I suppose there is one way to find out."

"Agreed. Shall we?" As we turn towards the house I sling my arm around my brother's shoulders. He has filled out recently.

My brother has become a man.

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Mrs C greets us in the passage on our return.

"There you are, Sir! My Lady has been seeking you. She wishes to breakfast in the orangery, while it is still cool. We are about ready to serve, Sir, if you are. Mr Samuels has gone off after the both of you, I'll try and catch him."

Jasper and I grin at her cheer. There is nothing our housekeeper likes more than a full house to keep.

We wash up in the scullery, annoying the kitchen staff immensely, though they would not admit it for all the wealth in China. Young things bob and weave and curtsy around us as we make our way through the bustling kitchen. Only cook is distracted enough from her work to watch us all the way out of the door, a smile softening her usually severe features. The rest of them are probably too scared of her to pay us any mind. Although, as we exit, I believe I hear the distinct sound of a tea cloth being snapped, and a fiercely muttered 'back to to work girls!' .

The woman is a slave driver.

Everyone is already gathered in the orangery.

Bella stands with her hand on her mother's shoulder. As soon as she sees me, her face lights into a radiant smile. We move towards one another wordlessly, falling into a tender embrace as naturally as taking the next breath. I bend to kiss her cheek, and we walk back to the prettily set table arm in arm.

I catch Swan staring at us with a strange expression on his face, as I pull out my wife's chair and ensure she is comfortably seated. I cannot help but wonder what he makes of all the normal, loving behaviour around him.

I move to Rose's side to find out how she fares this morning. I offer her a small bow, and squeeze her hand gently. She looks well-rested, at least. She returns my squeeze and smiles at me. Rosalie will be fine, I believe. She has learned to pack away the bad news as efficiently as a storekeeper his dry wares.

Alice fares less well. More hollow-eyed than her paramour, skin sallow, a bloody bitten fingernail – the poor girl looks as though she has been through a war since sunrise. She is engaged in a quiet argument with Jasper. I decide it is my place to intervene.

"Good morning, Alice. Will you sit? Mr Masen is hungry as an ox. He has been burning off his energy since dawn."

Jasper replies for her. "Alice wishes not to join us this morning."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I am uncertain. She has not explained herself well." He looks irritated. Perhaps he does not agree with the explanation she gave.

"Look Sweetheart, I know this is trying for you. We would all prefer you stay and eat with us, but I understand completely if it is too difficult for you." Alice's bravery tends to emerge when she is challenged. I wonder whether my gentle dig will have the desired effect.

It does. Her chin raises, and she turns her timidly defiant gaze on Swan, while answering me.

"If _you_ wish me to remain, my Lord, I will."

"Come and sit then." I pull out a chair close to Rose and far away from Charles, who – uncharacteristically – remains standing.

I take it that her uncle has implied he does _not_ want her here. Well, he has no say. I disregard him entirely.

Conversation is quiet. While no one would name this a happy or comfortable family gathering, for once our meal remains drama-free. Food and drink is devoured, superficial pleasantries are exchanged, and in my and Bella's case, feet are rubbed against one-another below the table.

As the meal winds down, discussion turns to suggestions as to how we should spend our day. I suspect that I am not alone in wanting to hear more about Charles, Genevieve and Alice, but no one suggests we revisit the topic. That is, until Jasper requests Genevieve's company in a walk to the church.

She looks at him blankly, passive as a worm. He reluctantly turns to Swan for assistance.

Charles sighs heavily, and attempts to engage Genevieve's interest. "Do you want to see the Church, Wren? Perhaps Rose or Alice will accompany you. I have some correspondence to attend to, so you will have to amuse yourself this morning anyway."

She merely lowers her eyes. He sighs again. "She will go. But one of the girls must accompany her, Mr Masen. I cannot allow her to walk with you on her own."

"I will come," says Alice, already pushing back her chair to stand. Jasper, Em and I rise with her. Swan's fat bum remains firmly in place, even when Genevieve is persuaded out of her chair by my brother.

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Much later, Jasper seeks me out in my study. He looks grim; exhausted.

"Did that work? You do not have the air of a successful man."

"Oh no, it worked. But it was not me who persuaded her to speak. Alice – er," He looks away from me in discomfort. He clears his throat.

"Spit it out, Jasper. What did Alice do?"

He sighs heavily. "Alice attacked her. Physically, I mean. She, er – she pulled her hair and slapped her until she broke down in tears. Then the story came out."

I shake my head in stunned denial. That little girl? So frightened of everyone and everything? "I think you had better tell me the story from the beginning, Brother."

"Yes. Well, pour me a drink, and I will."

We settle into the two comfortable chairs near the small fireplace. In a gesture very familiar to me, Jasper runs his hands through his hair, tugging on it in frustration.

"We walked all the way to the church with me preaching and cajoling and persuading, and Genevieve was quiet as a mouse. I gave her my finest sermon, words I practised over and over in my head before we set off, but I had as much effect on her as a single raindrop on a giant lake. She remained closed off, utterly indifferent. We reached the church, which was empty, and I was ready to give up. She took a pew, and just sat, staring into nothing."

Jasper stares into the air himself, seeing little as he recalls his morning.

"Anyway, Alice had been very quiet too, listening to me patiently, respectfully, as she does. But, perhaps when she saw defeat in my eyes, she became frustrated. She has quite a temper, you know. She holds it in check very well, but when she snaps – well, you would not like to be on the receiving end."

I laugh. "Women are not the delicate, angelic beings we imagine, are they Jasper?"

"Indeed not. Although, I cannot imagine Bella losing control in that manner."

This is something to ponder. Bella certainly contains fire, but what would provoke her to violence? I cannot imagine. I shrug my shoulders. "So what, exactly, did Alice do?"

"It was horrible, Edward. There we were, alone in the house of God, while Alice lost all control and began shouting and screaming at the woman who is essentially her aunt. And Genevieve still did not respond – so she grabbed her by her hair, pulled her face around and began to slap her repeatedly."

Poor Jasper, he appears so traumatised I cannot suppress my guffaw. "My apologies, but – no, you are right, it is not at all funny."

He cracks a smile. "Well, perhaps, in retrospect..."

"What did you do?"

"I ordered her to stop, of course, but she paid me no heed. In the end, I had to pick her up bodily and uncurl her fingers from Genevieve's hair. Both of them were crying by this time. I gave Alice a brief, stern lecture, and turned back to find the other woman sobbing on the floor. Honestly, Edward, what would you have done?"

"I am without doubt that you handled the situation impeccably, Jasper." He thinks I am teasing him, but I mean it truly. "How did you get Genevieve to talk?

"Oh, it all came out after that. She told me she was going straight to hell, and that she had just realised that Mr Black's threats held no power over her any more."

"What did she mean by that?"

"I have no idea, but I do know that William Black has been selling her a trough of dung for truth, for decades now. Apparently, he told Genevieve that Swan wilfully murdered his sister for the shame she brought, and that if she ever spoke of it – or anything else – ever again, she would be visited by all the ills of the earth and more. He convinced her that it was her duty to submit to Charles, but that she could never bring him happiness.

In all honesty, Edward, I believe Black used Charles and Genevieve to punish each other for his own bitterness at the loss of Sarah. He bewitched them both in the worst way. It seems he convinced Genevieve not to marry Charles, and convinced Charles to take Genevieve for his own. Then he used their sins against them, threatening them both with all manner of fire and brimstone, in order to exact revenge for their being alive, while the little girl he impregnated was not."

There is a great deal here to consider. We sit in silence for a time. I try to absorb and understand the significance of this information, but there is much I do not yet grasp.

"What about Genevieve's family? Were they so quick to let her go?"

Jasper shakes his head, a gesture of sorrow rather than denial. "They were very poor, from what I understand, despite the title, the land and the rotting castle. I suspect the Baron more or less sold his daughter to Swan without proof of marriage."

"And Alice? And Bella? How did they play into this unholy mess?"

"Genevieve believes that Alice was dispatched to the convent with the wet nurse, who held a letter that was only to be opened upon the word of either Black or Swan. Sir Charles is not a complete fool, you know. He was young when this happened, but there is wile in his character. He must have demanded insurance against Black's ability to cast the situation in a criminal light. The letter was the insurance. As was the child – well, Alice. You see, young Swan had as much leverage over young Black, as Black had over Swan."

"Is that so?" I am surprised, but on reflection, their relationship - as I saw it - always did see-saw in terms of who held most power over the other. Both men are fools in their own way, but neither of them is stupid.

"Genevieve was witness to a dozen scenes or more in which Lord Black threatened his son with excommunication and disinheritance, for misdemeanours far less significant than bedding a poor estate manager's daughter."

"And Lord Black still lives; so his son must yet fear him greatly."

"Which would explain why he was willing to wait for Bella's hand in marriage. At least, so Genevieve believes. When his father dies, William will be free to behave as he likes, take whomever he prefers as wife. But while Lord Black lives, the son's behaviour is moderated to maintain Papa's approval."

Thank heavens for that; if he was not so inclined, I would not be a happily married man. Something still confuses me though. "Did Genevieve explain why Charles brought Alice to live with them as a servant?"

"No, she was not actually aware that Alice was Black's daughter until recently. She never enquired."

"How frustrating. We will have to ask him ourselves."

We are distracted from our conversation by a knock on the study door. "Enter," I call.

A troubled-looking Samuels opens the door. "My Lord, if you could, there is some difficulty..." He is tongue-tied, and gestures helplessly with his head towards the hallway behind him.

We can hear a commotion coming from the far end. I am on my feet, Jasper close behind, before Samuels finds words to complete his sentence.

I do not wish to run, but stride with some urgency towards the voices. At the bottom of the stairs, a telling scene is playing out.

Swan has Alice in his beefy hands. He grasps her arms behind her back with one, and shakes her shoulder vigorously with the other. Genevieve, face red, bruised and tear-stained. stands sullen and defeated to one side. I cannot quite understand what Swan is shouting at Alice, through my rage.

Jasper shouts loudly from behind me, and with a burst of speed, reaches the tense tableau before I do. In an act of valour and aggression I am frankly astonished to witness, my brother grasps Swan around the neck with his arm, wrenching his head backwards and forcing him to unhand the frightened girl.

"What the devil are you doing?" I yell, unable to control my wrath. Jasper keeps hold of Charles, as I take little Alice into my own arms. Her whole body trembles with fear. I press her head into my chest, where she sobs into my waistcoat.

I receive no reply from my father-in-law, and it is no wonder, as Jasper's choke-hold remains fierce.

"Unhand him, Jasper. Allow him to explain himself," I ask, and my brother reluctantly steps away.

Swan dramatically places his hands on his knees and wheezes in a good few deep breaths before he responds. When he does, he points a finger at his niece accusingly.

"Oh, assume I am in the wrong, as always, Masen. Ask that little witch what damage she has inflicted on my Wren! Go on! Ask her!"

Jasper slaps Swan's pointing finger down hard. The idiot man turns his incredulous, apoplectic eyes to my brother, who looks as though he would love nothing more than to punch the living daylights out of Sir Charles.

I open my mouth to speak, and as my patience fails, the tone of my voice rises, until the last few words are shot at Swan like bullets. "How many times do I have to tell you, if you encounter a problem in my house, you damn well come to me! There will be none of this nonsense under my roof. Now get out of my sight!"

Swan turns sharply on his heel, takes Genevieve by the arm, and stalks up the stairs with her like an angry hippopotamus dragging a pink, flushed flamingo.

When did my beloved Forbrigg descend into a zoological garden?

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_**Remember, Gentle Reader, if you are still confused it is because you are Edward; and he is still confused.**_

_**I would like to welcome all my new readers, and ask you to drop me a line to tell me how you found me. In the immortal words of a certain vampire, I won't bite! And I'd love to hear from you.**_

_**What's happening in Vegas? A Twific meet up, that's what. You can google it. You know you want to. [Beta-type folk, if you use a proper noun as a verb, does it take a capital letter? Hmmm – pass me the Hoover to hoover the carpet... I think not. Take that, spell-check.]**_

_**Well, anyway, I have no idea how I am going to manage to fit Plight Thee into the next month of my life, but I haven't let you down yet, and I don't intend to now if I can possibly avoid it. This means even fewer review replies, but I still want to hear from you. I will also try to be more sociable on Twitter, which is my only other Twific outlet. Come and find me there. Gingerandgreen.**_

_**Take care, and thank you for being there.**_


	22. Chapter 21 Lead Us Not Into Temptation

_**I wonder what Ms Meyer's other half thinks of the characters that she owns? **_

_**I know what my other half thinks of the way that I play with them. Thank you, MM. Thank you Cared. And even though this chapter remains unbeta-ed, and is possibly riddled with mistakes due to insane time constraints, thank you Perry for wanting to beta it. I wish things were different.**_

_**This chapter is dedicated to my girls Cared, Maro, Ilovealion and Georgiaedwardlover. After this week, life will never be the same again.**_

_**With reference to the threat of disappearing fics, most of you will be aware that there is a little danger that PTMT could disappear from this site. I'm afraid I don't currently have a plan B, only hope for the best. If the worst should happen, follow me on Twitter or PM me to find out where I've gone. I will always be somewhere; I just don't have time to be two places at once.**_

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**Chapter 21 – Lead Us Not Into Temptation**

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"Isabella, what are you doing?"

She startles, looking up at me with wide eyes as she slams the volume on the table in front of her shut. A small cloud of dust puffs into the clear, sunlit air as she does so. I feel momentarily bad for scaring her, but I wanted to tease, and it feels good to do so. Perhaps I have a cruel streak in my bones. I grin at her.

"Edward! You startled me." She tries to deflect my attention from the secret she would very much like to hide from me. Her eyes scan the table frantically for a more innocent volume of work; but I am the guilty party who left the incriminating collection out for my sweet, innocent wife to find. Not that I meant her to find it – far from it. I was merely too inebriated last night to bother to put it away.

"What have you got there, my love?" I anticipate her blush, and when it comes, it is hot and fierce.

"Oh, er – this? I am not certain, I – er, I had only just opened it." She must catch the tease in my eyes, for as soon as she brings herself to look directly at me, her squirming embarrassment softens. "Is it yours?"

"Actually, it belonged to my father. He was fond of collecting such things. He was alone for many years, I daresay he needed something to relieve the – er, the ache." I very much doubt that the concept of self-pleasure has ever crossed Bella's mind. I hope not to have to elaborate.

She appears confused. "I have not seen this before... there are others of this kind?" Her eyes widen even further, and her pretty flush descends to the neckline of her dress.

I move closer and stand behind her. Leaning over to kiss the top of her head, I reach down to take the volume away from her curious hands. "There is a high shelf in this library that positively groans from the weight of this ilk." I feel very pleased with my double entendre, but seriously doubt Bella will understand my wit in this instance.

"Oh? And did this volume jump off the shelf on its own?" My wife teases me gently back. What a treasure.

I tap her on the nose with my finger. "No, naughty girl, it did not. Jasper, Em and I enjoyed an entrancing philosophical discussion about it last night, after we tired of playing cards."

She raises a disbelieving eyebrow at me. "You engaged in intellectual conversation about pictures of bare ladies?"

A loud guffaw escapes from my chest. "You would be surprised, my love, at the frequency of _bare ladies_ as a topic of conversation amongst gentlemen."

Now Isabella appears affronted. Oh dear. What have I inadvertently revealed?

"Please tell me that you three never, ever discuss me in that manner. Or Rose. Or anyone else I know." She is crimson again.

I take her hand and press it to my lips. "My darling wife, trust me when I say that what occurs behind our bedroom door has never – not once – been described by these lips."

She does not appear appeased.

"Then what do you talk about? Do you describe other women you have known? Do you enjoy looking at these – these – prints?"

Ah, now I am in trouble. What have I begun?

I take a seat beside my wife. She will not look at me, so I gently turn her face towards mine. Her lower lip is pouting in such a manner, I wish nothing more than to grasp it between my own teeth.

"Listen. Men like to look at women. You know that I like to look at you. No, that's preposterous, _like_ does not come close to describing the enjoyment I receive when I gaze upon _my_ bare lady. Or even my fully clothed lady, come to that." I sweep my eyes appreciatively over her form – or that part which is revealed above the table. "But we like to look at other women too. Where is the harm? It is only looking."

"But I do not look like these women," she mumbles, her chin tipped down towards her chest.

"No, you look much better. Infinitely more beautiful and alluring."

Her eyes flash briefly up to mine again. "Then why do you feel the need to look at anyone else? I do not understand."

"I do not _need_ to look at anyone else; it was only a little fun." I cock my head to one side, and smile crookedly at her. I know how this smile melts her heart.

She cannot resist a little, _insy wincey_ smile in return.

"Perhaps you will let me look at you again, so that I may continue my favourable assessment of your charms?"

"Edward!" She hits my chest with her small hand, and I grasp it to my breast.

"Please, Bella? Please, please, please?"

"No! Not here – surely you do not mean me to disrobe here? Anyone could walk in..."

"And indeed, Anyone has just walked in. But I beg your pardon. Please continue your fascinating discussion," says Em, startlingly close behind me.

I close my eyes. The fool is going to land me right back in the hot water I was extricating myself from.

Bella makes a strange noise in the back of her throat, and pulls her hand back to hide her face.

"Emanuel Cullen, do you have a sense of propriety at all? What did your father teach you? My wife and I were in the midst of a delicate and private negotiation." I exaggerate the ire in my tone to indicate my irritation, but I know my cousin will take no offence.

"My apologies to you my Lady." He bows to Bella, a sweeping gesture that bends him almost in two. "But I am sent to converse with you both."

"Oh? By whom?" I ask.

"By my wife, who has been in lengthy discussion with my dear father-in-law all the morning."

"And what will your wife have you say on their behalf?"

"My wife bids me tell you," he pulls up another chair with a flourish, spins it around, and seats himself astride it backwards, leaning his large frame over the delicate, wrought woodwork of the chair back. He looks incongruous there. "What was I saying?"

"You have a message from Rosalie," Bella explains patiently.

"I do. You see, you are aware that we planned to depart with your mother and father at the end of the month?"

Bella nods, a resigned look upon her less-flushed features.

"Well, it may come as no surprise to you to hear that they wish to leave much sooner. In fact, I am given to understand that your mother would prefer to leave today. Or, if that is not possible, to have already departed yesterday."

My wife and I roll our eyes in symphony.

"And it was Genevieve who made this request?" Disbelief is apparent in my tone.

Bella turns her face to me, a picture of resignation. "My mother does as my father wishes, Edward. If it is my father's desire that my mother requests they take their leave – well, then, that is what she will do. She will use as few words as possible, and will stubbornly perform her task exactly as she has been ordered to."

I sigh, and slump back in my chair. "I had meant to offer her a permanent residence here, Bella. I do not wish to see her leave with your father. Forgive me for saying this, but the man is a bully. I worry for her plight at his hands."

"As do I, Bella," says Em, serious now.

"Will she not stand up to him at all? With your encouragement perhaps..." I take Bella's hand in mine, and smooth the soft skin over her knuckles.

She shakes her head before I have completed my sentence. "No, my Lord, she never will. You must understand, Edward, the only one of us to have ever defied my father is married to your good self." She smiles forlornly at me.

"You picked the spirited one, Ed. Trust you, old boy." Em leans close to slap me on the shoulder, and almost tips over his inadequate seat.

"Steady there, Em." I support his arm, then reach over to stroke Isabella's face with my fingers. "I am delighted to have chosen such a phenomenal woman." I smile lopsidedly at her fierce blush. I have a great effect on her blood today.

I turn back to my cousin, who grins broadly at me. "But Rosalie is hardly meek, Em. Bella, did your sister never stand up to Sir Charles?"

"She was too frightened of him. With good cause. Em, you have always been so sweet to us all, and especially to Rose. It is no wonder she is different with you."

Em looks sad at this assessment. "I am no saint, believe me. I only behave as a gentleman ought to. Rose has been frightened of me on occasion – I lose my temper every now and again. But I always regret it immediately when I see the look on her face. How is it you are so much stronger than your sisters, Bella?"

"Oh, no, you are mistaken, Em." Bella shakes her head in dismay at his assumption. "It is not strength that allows me to defy my father – I wish that I _were _stronger, for perhaps I may have offered them my protection. As it was, I merely disagreed or disobeyed in the most innocuous fashion – I am certain my father did not know half of the revolution that took place in my heart." She clutches my hand to her breast, and I feel the steady thrum of the organ in question.

I catch Em's eye, and I know he agrees with me. Bella does not see herself clearly at all. Her strength, I have come to understand, forms the greater part of her character.

"I apologise, Bella. I did not mean to upset you. Do you think – given that you are able to revolt against your unperceptive father – that you could talk some sense into the man? Because, truly, I am not ready to begin my journey south."

I am not pleased at my cousin's attempt to foist his dirty work onto my wife. "Tell him yourself, Em. Why do _you_ not stand up to the man? Where is _your_ strength?"

A frown crosses Em's normally calm features. "My strength lies in putting my wife's feelings before my own, Edward. If Rose wanted a confrontation, believe you me, Swan and I would have one. But as we have just established, Rose is easily frightened by strife, and she will have her sister, the Peacemaker. If you will, Bella."

She stands immediately, though our hands are still joined. I tug her towards me, and she leans down and kisses my forehead.

"Allow me to smooth ruffled feathers, Edward. I think it is my calling."

I kiss her hand in return, and watch her leave the room.

As soon as she is through the library door, Em snorts. "Not strong? Poppycock. You are married to one of the most determined and fearless women I have ever met. How fare you with that?"

I smile wryly. "I think God chose her for me, Em. If it were up to me, I probably would have ended up married to a mouse, and rued it for the rest of my days."

We contemplate for a minute. My closest friend and cousin sits beside me, staring out of the window across the park as though there are answers to the folly of humanity there. I decide to confide in him.

"After James kidnapped Isabella, I thought she would break into little pieces, and that I would be there to restore her. I thought that was my role as her protector."

Em nods, eyebrows drawn down in a serious expression.

"It was I who shattered into pieces. When she confessed to the circumstances that led to her being in danger, it was almost as though she wished to provoke me into striking her. And Em – I nearly did. I was so ashamed, I ran away. Why did she do that? Why did I?"

If I thought my confession would shock my cousin, I am wrong.

"Rose still expects me to turn into a ringmaster and whip her into submission. Every time I raise my voice, she flinches. If I am too quick in my movements when I am aroused, she cowers. I feel like a beast, Edward, and on occasion, I have wanted to become one, just to fulfil her pathetic expectations of me. Do you recall what my father used to say to me when I was a rascal of ten or eleven?"

"No, what did he say?" I smile, remembering Em as a rapscallion of a boy. He got us into some wicked scrapes.

"He always said '_Em, you are asking for a hiding, my boy_.'" He imitates Carlisle's solemn tone perfectly.

It makes me laugh.

He continues in his own gruff voice. "I used to think he was mad. I never wanted a hiding, not from him, or from anyone. But now I think perhaps I did. It was hard to contain myself when I was young, and I knew my father would always be there to keep me safe and keep me in line. I did not ever _want_ his punishment, but perhaps I required it."

"But Rose and Isabella, and Alice for that matter – they surely did not need the punishment they received then; and I _know_ they do not require it now. Why would they expect it?"

"Because it is what they know. Perhaps it is easier to expect what one is accustomed to, than to believe one is free? Give them time, Edward. They will come to trust us eventually. We are very newly wed, after all."

"You are a wise man, my friend. Carlisle taught you well, after all."

"Why, thank you. And as for your reaction, Edward, which I know troubles you most - well, Jasper will tell you, it is our actions that we will be judged upon, not the secret, childish impulses we conceal in our hearts. You did not strike her, even though your emotions were in the most extreme turmoil; and you never will. You need not fear yourself."

"No, I never will." I shudder at the thought of harming a hair on Bella's head. "You will make a good father, Em."

He grimaces a little at my declaration. "Do you think so, Edward? My greatest fear is that I will not be able to achieve what my father did; or yours. What if I turn out more like Swan?"

"Hah! That will never happen, you monkey." I slap him hard across the shoulders – too hard; the little chair topples under our combined weight. My cousin's face is a picture as he collapses slowly and inexorably to the floor.

I double over in laughter. Em laughs so hard, he fails to rise.

Relaxing over cards, and whiskey - and my father's collection of naked ladies - last night, did not provide as great a relief as this clownish moment.

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I get out paper, ink and quill, and sharpen the nib. I am determined to record my thoughts on how to be a father before I become one.

I write '_On Good Fathering_' across the centre of the page, and underline it.

I tap the blotter with my quill repeatedly, watching the little spots of ink bloom and swell in the soft, dry mulch.

Minutes pass. Nothing comes to me.

I think about my father, and about Carlisle. Two excellent models of fatherhood, but I cannot identify the exact behaviour that made them such.

A little storm builds up outside the window. The wind gusts a sudden squall of summer rain onto the pane.

I know who I do _not_ wish to emulate.

I dip my pen again, and begin to scratch across the page:

_I will never abuse my children's mother._

_I did not force myself upon her when she was innocent, and I was free._

_I did not steal her from her family, and indenture her to a life of sin. _

_I did not cloud her mind with religious threats, nor allow any other fiend to do so. I will allow her to make her own peace with God; I will not interfere with her worship._

_I will teach my children to love God for His goodness. I will never abuse their faith with threats and punishments. _

_I will always treat my wife and children with respect._

_I will never force myself upon my wife, even though we are rightfully married._

_I will not allow any rivalry or quarrel with another man, no matter how damaging the events it stems from, to impinge upon my relationship with my wife and children._

_I will educate my children to believe in their own worth; to pursue learning for its own sake; and to strive for accomplishment because it will enrich their lives, not for any worldly gain__._

My thoughts begin to change their tenor. I want to understand Charles. I wonder, for the thousandth time, why he allowed his friend to control his life in the way that he did.

As I have begun writing anyway, I reach for a clean sheet, and record my thoughts about my father-in-law.

_Why did Black accuse Swan of murder, when the younger man was clearly doing his best to save his own sister?_

The answer to this question comes to me as I ponder it. Guilt. It is a strange emotion, and I have witnessed people responding to it in bizarre ways before. Black was ultimately responsible for Sarah's death, but like many men I have known, was not ready to own up to it. I surmise that it was easier to accuse his friend, than to accept his _own_ part in her early demise.

Heaven forbid anyone should accuse the fool of bad behaviour; least of all himself.

This leads me to another question.

_Why was Swan so ready to accept responsibility for Sarah's death?_

I think the answer to this question is trauma.

How would any man fare if he had to cut a woman apart in order to save her child? Let alone do it to a little girl he loved.

Swan was young and impressionable; he clearly worshipped the ground Black walked on at the time. What kind of boy allows a man to violate his sister? A weak boy; a spineless child. A boy who thinks that the young man who has awakened his ambition, who has given him a bone, is a hero to be worshipped.

I wonder when Charles stopped believing that Black was his hero?

_Genny Wren. How did Genevieve become such a weapon in the war between Black and Swan?_

No matter what her experiences have been, there is no arguing with the fact that Genevieve is strange.

There is still beauty in her features, and I can see how attractive she must have been when young. I understand how an impressionable boy could believe himself in love with such a one as her.

Yet her character, her person – she is not normal. She surprises me constantly with her literal responses. And she does exactly as Charles tells her – obeys him to the point of ridiculousness. A dog has more free will than Genevieve.

So how did she come to defy Charles to the point of refusing to be his wife? And why did her father let her?

I suppose there are plenty of bad parents in the world. There are children in Forbrigg who are almost wild, until they are taken in by some well-meaning busybody or other. No doubt Genevieve's father did not care what she did. Perhaps he was grateful to have such a strange daughter taken off his hands. Or perhaps he was the same? Perhaps her particular brand of madness runs through families?

That is a worrying thought.

I put it aside. There is nothing to be done about it.

Genevieve must have been more frightened of Black than she was of Swan. I suppose his religious fervour, warped as it is, must have influenced her in some way. She certainly seems to believe she is going straight to hell.

And Black clearly used every means at his disposal to punish Swan - for the very sins he had committed himself.

William Black has charisma. He is accustomed to wielding his power over other people. This is why he is so frightened of me, I suspect. His brand of fire and brimstone hold no sway over me. While I remain utterly unaffected by his preaching, I can see the mesmerising effect he has over others.

He will have had a profound effect over someone as literal as Genevieve. It is no wonder she does exactly as he says.

It is a miracle that my Bella remains so unaffected by him. I suppose she saw him at his worst, and knew his weaknesses for what they were.

She is such a strong character, I wonder why she is so blind to her own strength?

I continue with my logical investigation. I am doing well so far – the thoughts are unravelling themselves, and I know the answers I come up with are correct. I can sense their truth.

_What part does Alice play in this bitter family farce?_

Alice, Alice, Alice. She is such a sweet little mouse. A fierce mouse - tossed around by fate as though it were a cat. She has her own kind of strength, in truth. She has not quite been crushed by her horrid masters.

Her treatment bewilders me. Both Black and Swan could have sent the baby off to the convent and never thought of her again.

What was the point of this letter that was kept with her? Swan saw it as some sort of balancing scale – a means to keep both men in check. If Black was to accuse Swan of murder, he would be implicated too. And if Swan were to reveal Black's sinful behaviour to his father, William would be disowned, but Swan would suffer alongside him.

It strikes me that the letter was a childish tool in a frighteningly adult situation. Swan was still a boy; perhaps Black was too. It takes some men far longer to mature than others. Neither man questioned the efficacy, or the sense, of their little game of blame and counter-blame.

The letter itself probably took on more meaning over the years than it could possibly contain.

And the letter's existence kept Swan and Black tied to Alice – how ironic. If they had merely sent her away to the convent with nothing but the clothes she was swaddled in, they may have forgotten her entirely.

_Why did Swan bring Alice home to live with them as a servant?_

This is what I find hardest to understand.

I try to imagine what was going on in the Swan household at the time.

Black had used his power over Swan, and the guilt that Sir Charles still felt, to manipulate him into promising the daughter he loved most to his cold-hearted friend.

Though he had agreed to allow a wedding ceremony in time, Swan did everything he could to protect Isabella's virtue. He knew that Black could not realistically take Isabella as a wife until his father had passed; and he knew that William was capable of despicable acts against young girls – their relation to his friend being apparently of no matter to Black.

With sickening clarity, it strikes me what Alice was there for.

She was a threat – a tool to prevent Black from taking Isabella in the way that he clearly wanted to.

If Black dared to rape _his_ daughter, then Swan could do the same to Alice in return.

Or perhaps that was not quite it – perhaps the threat was to reveal Alice's existence to Lord Black, should the younger Black overstep the battle line.

After all, what did William Black care for his daughter?

Nothing.

He has not acknowledged Alice in any way.

He has not questioned her safety while she has been in my care. He has not referenced her at all. Alice had no idea who her father was.

But then, I am no longer certain. When Black was following me around London, was it Bella or Alice he was interested in?

Perhaps both?

Who knows. My brain is beginning to ache with all the thinking I have put it through this afternoon.

What it boils down to is this: two men, who misbehaved as boys, have allowed their lives to be overshadowed by the consequences of their actions.

Not only that – they have constantly and consistently abused their power over the women in their lives, in some kind of petty feud against one another.

The question now is: what – if anything - do I do about it?

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_**I hope that clarified somethings for those of you who told me you were still confused. Lordward with his thinking cap on – what could be sexier?**_

_**I'm quite proud of myself for having written this chapter amongst the insanity that has been my life for the past fortnight. Writing the next one – well, I may have to be coaxed into spending some time doing it in Las Vegas. Twific Meet Up, here I come! :D**_

_**I hope to meet some of you in person there. I look forward to hearing from others on Twitter. And I very much look forward to reading your reviews. Did you like the 18th Century version of the pornography debate?**_

_**Gingerandgreen (here and on Twitter).**_


	23. Chapter 22  God's Holy Ordinance

_**The fanfic author's world is essentially a glass house. I have heard Twific authors throwing stones at Ms Meyer, of all people, and other popular authors. You will never catch me throwing stones – I'm only grateful to be able to share this with you all.**_

_**So, TFMU – wow. Meeting my friends and readers and other authors and new people with the same interests was incredible; life-affirming; moving; more fun than I've had in years. This chapter is dedicated to the organisers, the attendees, and everyone who supported me so that I could go. Thank you.**_

_**Being in Las Vegas was a culture shock, and when I saw the green fields of England through the window of my train on the way home, I appreciated how much of a leap of faith it is for readers from around the world to identify with my characters. They are from another country – literally and metaphorically. Their time is so very different to ours; and their environment is entirely different too, even to those of us who live in England now. I know some of you disapprove of Lordward's actions every now and then. Like the significant others in your lives, if he didn't upset you sometimes, he wouldn't be himself. **_

_**The truth about this chapter: I have been ill since I came home from Vegas. I wrote the whole chapter yesterday (it normally takes me days and days). Cared pre-read and beta-ed for me quickly before she went to a concert with her daughter (because that's how dedicated and awesome she is), and MM read it and smiled and said it was lovely. Oh, he changed one word. It is half the length it normally is, but it is lemon-scented, and you may need a fan. Perry taught me more about writing than I deserve.**_

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**Chapter 22 – God's Holy Ordinance**

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_7th September 1795_

_My Very Dear Bella and Edward,_

_We have had some news this day. The physician has come, and as we suspected, he confirms there are two babes. He can feel their heads, and they lie well, he says. I am prescribed bed rest, Bella, and I know you will sympathise. My Em is solicitous to the point of distraction, but I am terribly grateful for it__. We think the date will be in November. I wish you – no, I must not wish for anything. I only pray for health._

_Mama remains stubbornly at home. I do not believe she has left the house since our return from Forbrigg, though Father has visited and dined on several occasions. He assures us she is well, and Emanuel says he will go there to make certain, as soon as he believes I will stay abed. I despair of seeing her at all before the birth. We must all trust my good husband, then._

_One blessing of my confinement to bed is that I am no longer required to attend church. Mr Black has been foul tempered, and his sermons have been insufferable. Em is very hostile towards him, which I understand perfectly, but Mr Black has made Sundays almost intolerable._

_I have just re-read that paragraph, and am slightly ashamed of it. I hope you will not show my blasphemy to Mr Masen? Only, I no longer believe that Mr Black shares the true meaning of the gospel he preaches, so perhaps he is the blasphemous one? I only meant to say that I am grateful not to have to suffer his presence. However, I believe he travels to London later this month, so we will all be spared his wrath. _

_Please write and tell me all your news, Bella. I miss your gentleness, and your smile, and your good counsel. I miss sharing our news about our husbands and our babes. Oh! I have just thought – we will not see Alice and Jasper married. I know that was in doubt, but I had hoped – and now my heart is sore. I will write to her directly, although I have not yet completed my gift to her, so perhaps her letter will be delayed. Will you tell her?_

_I love you both truly, and hope you are well._

_Your sister,_

_Rosalie_

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_9th September 1795_

I cannot help but smile at Rose's letter. She writes exactly as she thinks. It is very endearing.

Em shared his suspicion that Rose carried twins before they departed for Seat. She appeared more advanced in her pregnancy than she ought to have been, given the date of their marriage. Poor Em, he must be beside himself with concern for his wife, not to mention keeping Swan in line, and somehow holding himself back from throttling Black every Sunday.

I thank my maker frequently for our distance from Bella's previous home.

She, however, is brooding. I can tell.

"Bella, please do not punish your lower lip any more than you already have done. I like to kiss those lips, not watch you chew on them 'til they bleed."

"Sorry, Edward." She smiles at me, and manages to curtail her anxious gnawing for all of five seconds, or thereabouts.

"Are you uncomfortable? Would you like me to fluff your pillows, fetch you anything?"

She sighs so heavily, I almost take affront. Almost.

"No Edward, I am fine. Only, how long will you and Jasper be gone?"

Of course, this is what truly ails her. We do not like to be apart. "Three days, my Love. You will have Alice, and Samuels, and Mrs C..."

"I know. I am selfish. I am only disappointed that you will not let me accompany you. I would dearly love to see the cathedral in Norwich; and I did want to support Jasper in his ordination."

"As for Jasper, that was a noble wish, and he will appreciate it. When you are well, and the babe is safe, I will take you to Norwich Cathedral so often you will beg me to desist. Until then, you are to rest at home and keep what is precious to me well." I lift her chin to kiss her lips gently. "Do you have any further complaints?"

"I do." She nods, and pouts slightly. Inactivity makes the best of us petulant, I suppose.

I smile my crooked smile. "What further grievances do you have, my Love?"

She sighs. "I am no longer so ill as you imply, Edward. Do not fuss so over me, Love." She reaches a hand up to my face, stroking the freshly shaved skin along my jaw to soften her contrariness.

I hold her hand to my cheek, then move it to my lips to kiss her palm. "This argument already tires me, Sweetheart. You know I worry about you. I came close to losing you once, Isabella. Forgive me if it has coloured my behaviour towards you."

A flash of emotion changes the shape of her eyes before she masks it from me. She casts her gaze down, mumbling an apology under her breath.

This will not do. I have to leave now. I will not leave on a sour note.

I raise her chin with my fingers. Tears glisten, and threaten to spill. It will not do at all. She is so fragile lately – her emotions sway wildly, from high to low and back again, like a tree bough in a winter storm. I cannot keep up with her.

"Bella!" I bend to kiss her softly, sweetly.

She opens her lips, suddenly sucking and biting at my mouth, pushing her little tongue against mine. In a flash, heat consumes me. I grasp her head, suck at her tongue, crush her lips to mine. I invade her mouth, and as I take her she moans – tiny, breathy, uncontrollable noises – and surrenders to me. I feel her body relax beneath me as she melts into my touch.

I feel like William the Conqueror when I finally make it out of the door to meet my brother.

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_12th September 1795_

Jasper is ordained into the Church of England. I am so proud of him, I could burst.

"A few friends and I are planning to remain in town tonight to celebrate, Edward. Will you join us?"

Jasper's university pals are a good sort, and I know they will spend the greater part of the day and night attempting to redefine the laws of nature, God and angels. Under other circumstances, I would join them with alacrity.

"I can see by your expression that you prefer to ride home to Bella," he says, a touch of disappointment colouring his tone. "I understand. Please tell Alice I will be here a couple of days yet – there are some things I need to do. And that I miss her."

"I will. Behave yourself, young man. You are a clergyman now." I wink at him and he grins. When has my little brother ever misbehaved? I cannot think of a time.

Except some shenanigans with Alice. That thought makes me smile.

The roads in Norwich are dusty and dry. There has been no rain for a fortnight, and the Earth has sucked any moisture away into her secret depths.

The fields remain very green, though. They are small and oddly shaped, having been divided and shared between generations of sons. The hedgerows that surround them teem with birds and wildlife. Often there is a large tree, or a small copse, in the centre of a tiny field, and I imagine the farmers patiently ploughing around them, because their fathers and their grandfathers did.

The fields containing grazing animals make more sense. The sheep and cows require the shelter of the small woods, either as shade from rare sun or a windbreak from the North.

Countryside soon gives way to forest, and the quietness of the road today adds to the eerie still of the dark, wooded light. It is too easy to imagine bandits living amongst the trees, itching to pounce on the wealthy travellers who make their cautious way through their territory. I feel for my weapons – a knife in my boot, a pistol in my saddlebag, a ceremonial rapier that cannot do much harm, but which looks the part, by my side. A noise startles me to the left, but it is only a pheasant. Still, I spur my horse to go faster.

From this direction, I can see Forbrigg House rising warm and welcoming on the horizon; and the sea, to the right, slate grey in reflection of the dull sky.

It is late afternoon, and the Estate is bustling as I ride through. I am greeted on all sides by the folk I depend on, and who equally depend on me. Many of them stop to talk, asking after Jasper, congratulating me on his achievements. It feels so good to be home.

I slide off my horse, and send a lad off to the stable with her. Alice is outside, playfully chasing some little children around the lawn. I wish I knew where she collects them all from. As soon as she sees me, she looks around me eagerly, searching for my brother. I am sorry to have to disappoint her.

"He will be gone a few days yet," I tell her, bending to kiss her cheek. The staff at Forbrigg know Alice to be a gentleman's daughter and the love of my brother's life now. She occupies a strange limbo in the household between family and staff – she could not bring herself to relinquish all her duties, and continues to act as Bella's maid for the most part. We cannot dissuade her, despite her impending matrimony. "He says to tell you he misses you."

She pouts prettily, and I cannot help but take her in my arms and hold her to me in comfort. She folds her arms around my chest and clasps me tightly. When she releases me, she is all smiles and brightness again.

"Where is Bella?"

"I believe she is bathing. You have returned earlier than we expected." She shrugs nonchalantly. "She wished to be alone. You will surprise her, if you go to her now."

I cannot help myself – my breeches tighten at the thought of disturbing my wife as she bathes. I turn on my heel, and Alice's laughter rings out behind me.

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A girl stands outside of our bedroom door, her arms laden with clothing and towels. She tries to juggle her load in order to knock, but I catch her eye first.

I hold my finger to my lips and reach to take her burden from her. She blushes and giggles, even winks at me, the cheeky minx. I send her away with a slap on her bottom, and as slowly and quietly as a mouse, turn the handle of our bedroom door.

Isabella is singing.

Her soft voice melts through my skin like butter on warm bread. I recognise the melody as something I taught her a few months back. It was a composition I had begun in my youth, and returned to complete after my marriage, recognising only then what the missing element to the music was.

It was love, of course.

I squeeze quietly through the smallest opening I can manage, so as not to disturb her with a breeze. I lean back against the door when I have closed it, drinking in the sight before me.

Bella has clearly completed her ablutions. She stands naked next to the tub, her damp hair trailing low on her back. She has some kind of lotion in her hand, and the fragrance of lavender and rose fills the room.

Setting the cut glass container back on the dressing table, my exquisite wife begins to rub her hands slowly and sensually over her small, round bump.

My cock almost crows at the sight.

Languidly, she smooths lotion around and around her skin. Her hands move higher and skim over her full breasts, smoothing cream underneath them, and over the top of them, and – thank you, God – down to her nipples, which buckle and pucker as she works. Her song hitches a little each time her sure fingers reach them.

I am captivated. I cannot move. I am entranced.

She picks up the bottle and shakes more scented cream into her hand. Then I am undone, for she bends at the waist to rub lotion into her pretty calves, exposing not only her round buttocks to my greedy eyes, but the treasure-land that is revealed between them.

A growl erupts from my chest, and the fact that she does not startle, but continues to expose herself to me as she sings, demonstrates clearly that she knows I am here.

I throw my bundle onto the chair, and begin to strip myself of the paraphernalia of travel, as I growl out the words, "Do not move. I am coming to you."

She stiffens, but her body remains still, bent over and open for my pleasure. I wrench the boots from my feet and tear the cravat from around my neck before striding over to her. I can see the door to the room clearly reflected in the dressing table mirror – she caught me from the first instance. My hands cover each cheek of her behind before she speaks.

"I could sense you, too – I knew you were here before you came in the door. And once you were through it, I could smell your manly scent." She giggles.

"Do I smell too strong for you, my Sweet?" I ask as I rub my thumbs over the curves that lead to her sweet, sweet centre.

"No, not at all." Her reply is husky.

I slide my hands closer to my goal and stand back a little, so that I can inspect her thoroughly. A thumb on each lip, I open her centre, staring at the deep pink, glistening flesh with a feeling of such possession, such ownership, I am surprised at myself.

"Put your hands on the dressing table, Bella. Brace yourself."

She does so, and I release myself from my clothing, pushing my breeches down my hips to my thighs. I stroke myself once, twice; then I stroke her, sliding my head between the wet folds as she pushes gently back against me – needing, asking for me.

I move slowly when I enter her, careful not to become overwhelmed by the tight suction of her ridged warmth. A breathy 'oh' escapes her, as though she has been waiting for me forever.

Well, for three days.

When I have entered her to my hilt, I still, revelling in the sensation of coming home.

Soon, I have to move, and the frenzy takes away all my sense. I push hard, and she pushes equally hard back. I hold her hips, and slam myself into her depths; she encourages me to take her harder, crying out in pleasure and writhing her hips against me. The bottles on the furniture rattle and fall, and we pay them no heed.

She screams her release twice before I allow myself to succumb to the inevitable end. I crash into her one final time, and still as my seed pulses into her. She clutches me and releases a third time, perhaps not as intense as the previous two, but enough to make her groan with pleasure.

When I withdraw, she remains in position, grasping the table to hold herself off the floor. Her knees tremble in place. I laugh with happiness at the sight of her, one side of her face pressed into the glossy wood of the table, the other side I can see glowing and smiling with bliss.

I dip a towel into the cool bathwater, and gently cleanse her legs and bottom, before washing the residue from my own cock.

"Would you like some assistance in standing up, my Love?"

"Mmmm, yes please my Lord."

I lift her torso so that she stands upright, then lift her up into my arms. I nuzzle my face into her neck before carrying her to the bed. "Mm, yes, I am your Lord and Master, my little wanton girl, am I not?" The feeling of power and control engendered by our lovemaking has apparently not left me yet.

"Oh yes, Edward. You are so masterful and lordly. It ought to be a sin, to be so." I lay her down on the bed, and she pushes her bottom into my hands as she wriggles and sighs happily into the soft sheets.

I cannot help myself, and I smack her once, twice, three times.

"Ow," she moans, but it does not sound like pain.

I laugh. "Oh, so now you want me to be gentle?"

"No, I like you rough and masterful. In fact," she sits up and turns to look into my eyes. "I believe your lordly, masterful air was the first part of you I fell in love with."

She leans forward to kiss me, and I kiss her back with passion. It is so very good to be home.

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_26th September 1795_

I have never been so happy as I am at Jasper and Alice's wedding breakfast.

My brother looks very handsome in his finest morning clothes, and he treats his new wife with equal parts reverence and playful joy.

Bella, sitting to my left, glows with health and radiance. Her pregnant belly shows proudly through the fine silk drapes of her fashionable gown, and I have seen several of our neighbours itching to put their hands on her, and rub her like the Buddha figurine my uncle brought back from China once.

The gossip that surrounds the admittedly scandalous marriage has been left outside, for everyone knows I will not tolerate it in my own house. There is nothing but good cheer, good food, good wine and good company.

I almost regret avoiding the family breakfast that we ought to have celebrated our own wedding with; but when I recall the sermon Black gave, I know I chose the right course. I had to take Bella away from her home as quickly as possible.

The results of my choice have worked out very well for us. I smile at the precious woman who graces my table, my home and my life with her light and love. She smiles back at me, a flush creeping onto her cheeks.

I know she is thinking about our lovemaking last night - because I am, too.

I surreptitiously adjust myself below the table.

It is a shame that Em and Rose could not be here, but with Bella in such good health, we have all agreed to go and stay with them for a time. Jasper's only request was for two nights at home before we leave.

I am not entirely sure two nights will be enough for the pair, who are staring hungrily across the tiny space that separates them right now – but they will learn.

I only pray they are not blessed with children until they have made the trip to the Caribbean. I do not envy Alice a trip at sea if she is only a quarter as sick as Bella was at first.

I stand and raise my glass to the happy couple. A respectful hush quickly descends on the room, and I make my toast:

"To the best younger brother a man could ask for, and his sweet, beautiful bride: may life bring you joy, health, children, sufficient wealth to support them, and the blessing of a partnership between man and wife that plays out as God intended it to – as the pinnacle of human experience."

A chorus of 'hear, hear' rings out through the room, followed by applause as Alice and Jasper drink to my blessing.

I sit back down, and Bella leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek.

"I love you, Husband," she whispers.

"I love you, Wife."

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_**Once again, Plight Thee was nominated for Fic of the Week on Tehlemonadestand this week. Voting is closed, but thank you so much to those of you who voted for me and supported me. **_

_**I can't even begin to tell you how much all of my readers mean to me. You all bring me something special, from poems to recs, from friendship to just the knowledge that you are out there in a different corner of the world reading my words.**_

_**I have a question, though. An astonishing number of you have marked PTMT as a Favourite Story, and yet many have never left a review. Are you using your Favourites list as a reminder to read the story when it is complete? Or are you reading and enjoying, but aren't sure what to say to me? I love to hear what you think, even if you just send me an emoticon. I can't always reply because I lead a crazily busy life, but I LOVE your thoughts. They make me a better writer.**_

_**My A/N this week is almost longer than my story – shut up, Ginger!**_


	24. Chapter 23 Those Who Trespass

_**Hello Gentle Readers, new and familiar. This story is based on the imaginative tale told by Ms S Meyer. It is unashamedly a work of fanfiction.**_

_**Huge thanks go to Darth Vader (otherwise known as Cared), and MM. Perry taught me more about writing than I deserve.**_

_**This chapter is dedicated to the Carers who care; the army of low-paid or unpaid women and men who go into the homes of the sick, the injured, the infirm – the people in need in our communities - and ease their burdens. Your worth is untold. Thank you.**_

_**Did you see my review for being one of the fic**__**s**__** of the week on Tehlemonadestand dot net? Wasn't that awesome? Thank you for voting for **__**Plight Thee**__**.**_

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**Chapter 23 – Those Who Trespass Against Us**

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_1st October 1795_

"...and Lottie agreed with me about the cut of that gown, Bella. I was terrifically pleased, because she is very fashionable you know..."

I widen my eyes at Jasper. Alice was so quiet on the journey to Lottie and Peter's, one might have thought she was en route to her doom. Our departure, however, heralded a torrent of drivel. Alice has not stopped speaking for the ten miles or so that we have been on the road to Wiltshire.

If her husband does not find a way to silence her soon, I may exert my own authority. My newspaper remains unread. Even Bella, under strain from the bumpiness of the carriage, appears bemused at the onslaught.

Jasper reads me well. A few attempts to quiet her yields poor results, so he captures her face between his hands and kisses her, mid-word.

"Alice," he says between pecks, "if you can be silent for two miles, I will reward you with something fine when we reach the inn this afternoon."

Bella looks up at me from her position on my lap, and we simultaneously snort with laughter. Alice flushes scarlet, and Jasper winks at her. This pair of love-birds can be highly entertaining.

In the blessed calm after Alice's storm, I smooth the disobedient tendrils of hair away from Bella's forehead. She smiles, and snuggles her head deeply into my lap. I recall the thrill of the journey we took in the opposite direction, as newlyweds. When Bella slept across my lap then, she was shy and tentative, even in her dreams. And the mere presence of her mouth in the vicinity of my groin elicited a hardening there.

It seems strange to think back to how we were then – almost as though a lifetime has passed, and we were different people.

The greatest change in our circumstances is cupped beneath my hand. When we took this leg of the journey in reverse, my wife was still a virgin. Now she is full with our child. Occasionally, I believe I can feel the infant moving around below the layers of muslin and skin that separate us.

I ponder over whether we would be this comfortable with one another if we had not undergone such stressful experiences. If James had not kidnapped, threatened and hurt my wife, would I treasure her he way I do now? My heart still beats too fast when I recall the terror I felt then.

Introspection is not my strong suit. I unfold my newspaper and return to the world of crime, politics and slander. It is a calming respite from the incessant chatter that has now thankfully ceased.

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"Bella, my Beauty!" shouts Em, before she has even completely disembarked from the carriage.

He bats my hands away from her, and lifts her out himself, whirling her three feet from the ground, and finishing off with a warm embrace.

She laughs, although she looks a little green.

'Sweet little Ally' receives similar treatment, while Jasper and I remain largely ignored. We share a look of bemusement before heading into the house behind our wives, one tucked into each side of our jovial cousin.

I stop in the doorway, and turn to watch Jacob slowly driving the horse team and carriage out of the property. I feel uneasy; I do not know why. There is decreased spare capacity in the stables at Cullen House _and_ Seat Manor. Sir Charles has suddenly turned his back on his cheapskate days, and is spending money alarmingly fast - on horses and carriages, amongst other things. Jacob has been forced to take lodgings in Seat, where the Forbrigg team and carriage will be stabled for the duration of our stay.

I recall the last time I lodged at Cullen House with no driver or carriage to hand. The day I was forced to rush home by any means available was the same day I proposed to Bella. I smile to myself and shake my head. I really was a completely different man, then.

I had absolutely no idea what was coming to me.

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Rosalie is so happy to see her sisters, she bursts into tears.

"Why do they do that?" asks Jasper, as he, Em and I retreat to the gun room.

Em looks at him in confusion. "What the devil do you mean, Jasper?"

"Why do women cry when they are happy, remain silent when angry, and smile when they are sad?"

Em stills in surprise. "They _do_ that, do they not? They are a breed from another continent, lad." He laughs, and slings an arm over my brother's shoulders. "Welcome to marriage-hood, Jasper. It is another country."

"Do you think being with child makes them more emotional?" I ask. "Bella changes her mood more often than her clothes. I cannot keep up."

"Without a doubt. I can make Rosie cry by shutting a door too abruptly. Mrs Cope was telling her a story about some village orphans last week. She sobbed so hard, I thought I was going to have to fetch the physician."

"She was telling us in a letter how obnoxious that cad Black has been. Does he trouble you, Em?"

My cousin shakes his head, grimacing his displeasure. "That man... He may be losing his mind, Edward. There have been meetings – several members of the congregation have expressed their wish to see him removed. Many refuse to bring their children to church. He frightens them. He frightens their parents, too. He is unhinged."

"What does Swan say?" Jasper looks dismayed. He has spoken of the wish to reconcile father and daughter, but it is a vain wish indeed, if what Em says is true.

"Sir Charles says whatever he thinks will curry him favour, depending on the company he keeps at the time. I do not trust him further than I can throw him." He snorts. " And with the amount of food he is eating lately, that is not very far."

I raise my eyebrows. Em is not usually a judgemental man. He does not acknowledge my expression, but turns his eyes toward the window.

"We will hunt while you are here, as soon as the weather allows. What do you think of this beauty?" He picks up a new hunting rifle, polished and gleaming; and the subject is closed.

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_3rd October 1795_

"Father, you have to make Wren leave the house. She will not move unless she is compelled, you know this."

Bella is frustrated. We arrived at Seat Manor unannounced, so that we can see for ourselves what Em has been describing. The situation we find does not speak of domestic contentment.

The dark and dusty drawing room is awash with playing cards. Not one surface is clear of abandoned games, intricate card-houses, and patterns made with fanned packs in different sizes and designs. If one looks closely, one can discern attractive displays amongst the debris.

The fire is laid, but remains unlit in the grate, so the room is very cold. Genevieve sits wrapped in scarves and shawls, rocking slightly and constantly, and tapping her fingers on the corner of a playing card incessantly. She is so engaged in her pastime, she does not acknowledge our presence.

"Isabella, when has your mother ever been compelled by anything _I_ say or do? She has not listened to me, or obeyed me, since your sister was conceived. I do my best. I haul her out of here for meals, and most nights, I haul her into bed."

Bella pales. "Most nights? _Most_ nights, Father? What does she do when you leave her here?"

Swan has the grace to look uncomfortable. He shifts heavily on his feet. Feet that appear too small for his belly, which now rivals Rosalie's.

Bella draws her father out of the room. They continue to fight in lowered voices; my wife, in her newfound confidence, berating the man who controlled her for so long, fiercely and unrepentantly. I am proud of her.

I squat down slowly in front of Genevieve. She knows I am here, but refuses to acknowledge me.

"Madam," I whisper, as though we are strangers. "Are you well?"

She does hear me. She will not look into my eyes, but she nods her head. Only, once she has begun nodding, she seems to find it hard to stop. She resembles a doll I had as a child, a soldier with a head on a spring that would nod, and nod, and nod until the momentum ran dry. I do not like the movement in her, and I reach my hand up to stop her.

She flinches sharply from me. It is a shock, and my hand falls back to my knee. I almost topple over backwards, but right myself before causing any serious damage to the card house behind me.

My attempts to engage with Genevieve thwarted, I withdraw, and join my wife in battle against my father-in-law. Curse the man.

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_12th October 1795_

The first frost of the year, and the clear, crisp sky that heralded it, was an occasion too opportune to miss. Jasper, Em and I have been shooting since breakfast, and a brace of pheasants drapes elegantly from the back of Em's saddle.

"How did you persuade Swan to part with sufficient funds to engage a companion for Genevieve?" Em sounds both curious and envious. I know he has been attempting to do the same for months now.

"It was simple, actually. I merely told him I would take her back to Forbrigg with us if he did not. He opened his mouth to protest, and Bella crossed her arms. That was the end of it. It was a fortuitous coincidence when I heard about the gentlewoman from Hertfordshire who was urgently seeking a position. It fell into place nicely."

Em shakes his head admiringly.

"Will you interview her, Edward? Or will you leave that decision to Swan?" asks Jasper.

"Neither," I say. "Bella will interview her, and Alice and Rose will have the opportunity to give their approval too."

"You are a sensible man, Edward. How you grew up so well, I cannot fathom."

Em can laugh at me if he likes. I know he is impressed.

Having ridden in a sweeping circle through the countryside surrounding the house, our horses are eagerly anticipating their rest. We reach the road that connects Cullen House to Seat. As we turn a bend we can see the entrance, fifty yards or so further on.

A curricle with one rider, gripping his hat in one hand and the reins in the other, comes tearing out of the wrought iron gates, and continues at a pace in the opposite direction.

Jasper and I turn to Em, who looks grim and concerned. My heart feels cold all of a sudden, and I am not sure why.

"Who was that?" asks Jasper. Already, we can only see the dust the curricle has left behind.

Em speeds up his mount. "William Black," he replies with a shout, and I know the cold feeling in my chest is justified by what lies ahead.

I just know.

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Em reaches the front door first, and hollers for a servant to care for the horses. We abandon all three, and press into the house.

"Bella?" I call her, not knowing where to find her in my cousin's house.

"We are in here, Edward," she replies, her voice strong and clear.

She is in the Blue Room, and I am tremendously relieved at the strength in her tone.

As we reach the door, however, it is apparent that Alice is distraught.

I stand back to allow Jasper to enter first. Em follows on his heels, and stands motionless in the doorway.

"Christ Almighty," he curses quietly.

I can see nothing; his broad back blocks my view. "What? For the love of God, Em, what?"

He spins around, reluctant to move. His face is a picture of controlled dismay.

"For pity's sake, man, let me through!' My voice sounds strained. I recall with vivid clarity the way my heart beat in my throat as I walked through James' house, seeking Bella; praying she was unharmed. I can see that very room in the forefront of my mind – opening the doors to reveal my wife tied to a chair.

I can take it no longer. I reach out and shove my cousin out of the way. He does not resist. He takes a step back with the momentum of my push, and there sits my darling girl, cool as a cucumber on the love seat, with a swollen eye and a rapidly bruising cheek.

I growl out my fury, "_What the blazes has that fucking devil done now?_" even as I fall to my knees in front of my wife.

She reaches out a hand to stroke my face – to calm and comfort _me_.

"Hush, Love. It is not as bad as it looks, perhaps."

I grasp her hand and hold it tightly to my lips. "Isabella, do not – for the sake of my sanity, do not downplay the harm that man has done."

I stroke the hair away from her injury, tracing the extent of it with my thumb pad. She looks straight back at me, a small smile playing on her lips, adoration in her eyes.

"Why is Alice crying? What has he done to her?" Gradually the others in the room come back into focus. From the corner of my eye I see my brother comforting his wife, who snivels still, but appears unharmed.

Em has ushered in Mrs Cope, who bears a cold compress and a worried frown. "Excuse me, Lord Masen. May I?" She gestures towards Bella's head, and I shuffle backwards on my knees, retaining her hands in mine.

The housekeeper tuts and mutters, wiping softly at the bruise with a damp cloth before pressing the compress firmly against the swelling. "There, Dear, this will help you..."

I turn towards Alice while Mrs Cope fusses. "Alice, are you hurt? Did Black harm you?"

She shakes her head in denial, but her cries increase. Jasper hushes her. "Come on, Girl, settle down. Tell us what happened," he says, rocking her backwards and forwards.

Bella speaks before Alice can. "Mr Black came to visit Emanuel, at least this is what he told us. I suspect he was here to lay eyes on me, although he seemed to fear me, or perhaps he was disgusted by me – he would not take my hand. He would not sit either, but paced about here in a state of agitation. I was truly at the end of my patience, and rose to discourage his remaining here, when Alice decided to confront him. Some ugly words passed between them, and he made as though to strike her. I pushed her out of the way, and the blow landed upon me."

"Oh, Bella," I groan, burying my head in her lap. Will she never learn? Will she never stay out of harm's way?

"So he hit you? Then what did the dog do?" Em sounds livid.

"He turned on his tail and ran away! He looked terrified. Oh, Bella! I am so sorry! Why did you do that?" Alice's sobs renew themselves in the wake of her outburst.

Jasper kisses her head, then springs to his feet. "I will not stand for this. Come, Edward, we must go and find the fellow before he hides too well."

I look searchingly at Bella. "Will you be all right? Do you feel quite well?" I place my hands on her firm belly, so that she knows where my thoughts turn.

"I am quite all right, Edward. I have endured much worse. This is nothing – the momentum had quite left his swing when he struck me. I promise, it looks worse than it feels."

Her words do not comfort me at all. I cannot help myself, and I shout. "Damn, woman, are you trying to enrage me?"

_My_ angry words make her flinch. I take a very deep breath, and try to calm myself.

"Sorry Bella," I manage to say calmly. "That was uncalled for. I cannot bear it when you downplay your pain and misfortune. Black should not have struck you – either of you. It is him I am angry with."

I turn to look at Alice, who has wisps of hair stuck to her tear-stained, blotchy cheeks. There is a reaction I can understand.

"The – the fool must pay for what he has done." I falter on the foul name I want to call the beast who continually blackens Isabella's happiness.

"I understand, Edward, and I am grateful for your protection, my Love. Please do not think otherwise." Bella pulls me back towards her, placing a kiss on my cheek and speaking quietly close to my ear. "Be careful, Love. I will go and rest with Rose. She is bound to have heard some of the kerfuffle."

"I had better go and check on Rosalie," says Em, unaware of Bella's intention. "When you find Black, Edward, bring him here to me. It is high time I gave that fellow what for."

Jasper kisses Alice, and we head back out of the front door in search of fresh horses.

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Black is not at the vicarage. We are quite certain, because a frightened servant allowed us in to search the premises. His curricle is not there, either.

Nor is he at the church, in the churchyard, or anywhere obvious in Seat. Jasper suggests we may find him at Seat Manor, troubling his partner in deviancy and cowardice, Sir Charles Swan.

I agree this is likely, but stop to ask at the inn whether he has been seen recently.

"Oh, aye, Sir," says a young lad, sitting on the front step of the only inn in the narrow high street. "I seen him. He was off to Town, Sir; he was an' all."

"London? Now? What makes you say so?"

"He stopped an' tol' us, Sir. He's expectin' to be gone some time Sir, said it was an emergency. He had to get summan in to take church, Sunday. He threw me a coin, said I was to organise it. Look, here 'tis, if you don't believe me."

The lad digs in his pocket and pulls out a half crown.

"Well? Why are you just sitting there boy? Make yourself useful. Here's a penny for your trouble. Now leap to it!"

I look at Jasper in consternation. I have never heard him speak to anyone like that before. He must be truly rattled.

The boy scarpers, and my brother turns to face me. "We are going after him, Edward. Do not think of trying to dissuade me. I will go alone if I have to, but I suspect you are just as game for the chase as I am."

It takes me three seconds of deliberation before I nod my head in agreement. "He will not avoid me this time, Jasper. I will beat that man to a pulp if I get my hands on him."

"Good. Now I suppose we should head home and inform our wives of our decision."

I slap Jasper on the back. "Yes, Brother. Let's go and explain ourselves to our wives."

He shoots me a wink. Another uncomfortable conversation is on our horizons. Neither Bella nor Alice will be happy about being left behind while their furious husbands tear through Town seeking justice.

But justice is exactly what we will extract, this time.

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_**I have very bad life timing. Just as I reach the closing chapters of PTMT, my workload has exploded. I want to write more here, but it is a miracle I've managed as much as this. So the chase will come to you in another fortnight.**_

_**Last fortnight I asked you about favourites v reviews. Thank you so much to those of you who got in touch with me. For anyone worried about knowing what to say, or their English, or anything else, please remember that I have absolutely no expectations of you. You can say anything, in the worst English you can come up with, and I will be delighted.**_

_**Having said that, this site has made it impossible to disable anonymous reviews. I prefer our contact to be a conversation. I won't complain – at all! - if you don't want to log in when you say hi, or thank you. But I don't like anonymous criticism. It's hard enough to keep my confidence up as an author in the best of circumstances, but when given criticism that I can't respond to, whether it is justified or not, I get frustrated. Polite criticism from named readers is very welcome, don't get me wrong. But if you have something to share, please do the honourable thing and log in. Thank you!**_

_**Huge thanks to everyone who has recced PTMT. This week I would like to give a special mention to some beautiful people: Jaime Arkin; DiamondHeart78; and Agrutle. Thank you most sincerely for sending so many readers my way.**_


	25. Chapter 24 Thy Will Be Done

_**Authors of popular fiction who allow their works to be fanficced are a blessing, including Meyer.**_

_**Gentle Readers, since I last posted, one of our community was lost to us while pursuing her dreams at Comic Con in San Diego. The Fandom rallied to support her family and fulfil her wishes to improve the world, particularly for sufferers of Alzheimers Disease. A fundraiser was created, to which I and many fabulous Twifanfic authors are contributing. Please head over to the blogspot site called fandom4twifang to contribute and receive the compilation. My contribution will not be an outtake from PTMT, but a celebration of friendship.**_

_**And in that light, this chapter is dedicated to the true meaning of the word 'friendship' as exemplified by so many in the Twifandom. In particular, the friendship of Cared, who is so gifted at giving, and drawing people together. You would not be reading this story if not for her.**_

_**MM, this chapter reminds me of you. I love you.**_

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**Chapter 24 – Thy Will Be Done**

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"Do not raise your voice to me, Isabella Masen!"

"Or what, Edward Masen? Or what?"

She stands in front of me, hands on her hips, high colour in her cheeks, one eye flashing anger and challenge, while the other is bruised, swollen and half closed. I am so beyond exasperation, I do not think there is a word in the English language to describe how I am feeling.

I take a step closer to my belligerent, pregnant wife.

She has drawn herself upright as a soldier, and her chin is tilted high so that she can stare into my eyes as I tower over her. She is not intimidated in the least. Has it come to this? Am I no longer the man of the family?

"Why do you question my authority, Isabella? Do you think you know better than me? Look at you! You cannot go a week altogether without requiring my protection, yet when I try to give it to you, you refuse me? Why?"

"How will you protect me, Edward, by running after Mr Black and leaving me here to await news of your fate? Will you protect me by leaving me a widow? Will you?"

"Don't be absurd, Bella. I have never heard anything so ridiculous, even from you. What makes you think I will not quickly return to you, entirely unscathed? Do you believe your vicar more potent than me?" I must admit, I am hurt by her lack of faith in me. Does she think me some young hothead, itching to challenge the fiend to a duel at dawn? We do not live in the dark ages, for heaven's sake.

"Your potency is not in question, my Lord. It is your temper I am in fear of!"

The woman has actually shouted at me about _my_ temper. It is unbelievable. I am wordless.

Our furious standoff is interrupted by my cousin. As soon as he enters the room, his steps and his expression falter. Our anger must fill the air with its fire.

"I beg your pardon, Edward, Bella... I'll just... er... I have to...," he sputters, and spins on his heels to leave.

Bella and I return our eyes to one another's, and somehow the spell has broken. She begins to laugh first, and I cannot prevent my own snort. The sound – because I have tried valiantly to suppress it – is so comical that we are soon both holding our sides in pain.

Our argument, however, remains unresolved.

"Listen, Bella. I could probably send word to London and have Black arrested there for the damage he has inflicted upon you." I trace her bruise gently with my fingertips. "But I really do not think we can withstand the scandal. My brother is married to his unacknowledged, bastard daughter, and it truly is better for all of us if that gossip is kept out of the papers."

"I understand that, Edward, I do – but I am fearful of what you will do when you find him. Why do we not cool off for a time, and wait for Mr Black to return home? Then you can extract your revenge quietly, and with no fear of harm to yourself." She places her hands lovingly upon my arms as she says this, but the gesture does not obscure her lack of faith in me.

"Why do you fear my harm, Isabella? Do you not believe in my ability to stand up for myself? Black is older and more decrepit than I. You wound me with your lack of faith, you truly do."

She laughs a little, and I am further taken aback.

"Do not - for one moment - fear that I doubt your virility, Husband. Mr Black is no match for your strength and vigour. But my Love, he is sly where you are firm; he is cruel, where your moral strength is candid and obvious. He will employ devious means to thwart you, and your goodness will not allow you to anticipate them. He is truly black to your white, Edward, and that is what I fear. He is best left alone; he can do no harm there."

I run my hands through my hair. "Bella, your portrait of me is flattering, I think, but it does not take into account my – Bella, I have my own darkness, Sweetheart. Do not paint me in so good a light. It is not what I deserve."

She stands on tiptoe to kiss me sweetly on the lips.

"You _are_ good. You have your faults, I am not blind to them. But you do not know Mr Black as I do, and you will have to take my word for the twisted nature of his character, and the harm it could do you. Besides, there truly is no need for all this heroism. I am almost unscathed, and so is Alice. What about your br..."

I can take no more. I hold her head in my hands and place my thumbs over her lips to silence them.

"Look in the mirror, Isabella, and tell me again that you are unscathed. This debate is over. I appreciate your concern, but trust me when I tell you it is unwarranted. Believe me when I say I will punish that man for his audacity, his cruelty and his – for daring to raise a hand to _any_ member of my family. I am head of this family, I will deal with the matter as my conscience dictates, and you, my wife, will remain safely here with Em and Rose. If you open this mouth to speak again, let it be to speak of happier things. All right?"

Her trapped lips attempt to dance under my thumbs between a sulky pout and a genuine smile. She knows she is defeated. My body expresses its desire to celebrate my victory in my stirring cock and quickened breath. I press close against her, and she responds eagerly to my lust. I lean down to replace my thumbs with my lips, and the argument is entirely over.

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Jenks' offices are over-decorated with rich furnishings and a disturbing array of clashing landscapes on the walls.

Jacob, who I have brought with me because I trust him with my life now, feels out of place. His feet shuffle on the thick carpet, and his hat may not survive the meeting. He twists and turns it between his fingers, having refused to relinquish it to the startled boy who meant to serve him upon our arrival.

Jasper is on edge for other reasons. He drums a tattoo upon the wide desk with his fingers. His left leg jiggles up and down in a nervous trait I recognise. It must run in the family.

"I would expect to have been alerted to Mr Black's presence in Town by now," says Jenks, pondering. "Still, it is best to check. The lad I sent will not be long. Although, have you considered that he may have gone straight home to his father?"

"Is that likely?" I ask. "I did not think there was much love between them."

"I could not possibly comment my Lord, but given the circumstances, he must be in fear of you. He could not expect to be any better protected in London than in Seat. But I do have some information for you concerning his father. I have not put it in a letter because the source is not entirely reliable. "

"Go on," I say. I want to hear any and all gossip about the man, even if the truth is far off the mark. Where there is smoke, after all.

"I was looking in to the gentleman's financial situation. It seemed pertinent."

"Money is always pertinent," says Jasper.

"Indeed, Sir." Jenks nods at my brother before continuing.

"Did you know that the living in Seat belongs – on paper at least – to Sir Charles Swan?"

"No. No, I was not aware of that." I am thoughtful. I looked in to Swan's affairs when I proposed to Isabella – of course I did. I do not recall any mention of the living that accompanies the church, vicarage and grounds there.

"Yes, that information is rather well hidden, which immediately made me suspicious. I dug a little further, and I think I can shed some light on the financial relationship between the two men."

I sit forward in my chair. This is interesting.

"You see, Charles became rich and rose to prominence in court rather quickly. In time, in fact, for him to purchase Seat Manor, the living included, just when Mr Black needed it most. Seems there was some unpleasantness with his family, and Black was forced out of the ancestral home to make his own way in the world. There was a very fine living waiting for him in Dorset, but Lord Black bestowed it upon someone else. Someone young. I cannot imagine Mr Black was too pleased about it."

"No, that must have been a blow. Do you think his father discovered the bastard daughter? Forgive me, Jasper," he is scowling at me, "I meant no offence."

He sighs and turns back to Jenks. "Please continue."

"The long and the short of it is I discovered a rumour implying that Black-the-younger stole rather a lot of money from his father when he was forced out of home, and he used it to set the young Swan up."

I immediately re-interpret the Swan/Black relationship in this light, and recognise the possibility of truth in it. "If Black stole the money and set Swan up, then Charles would be absolutely beholden to the devil. Ownership of Isabella must have been part of the price he had to pay."

"But why change his mind? Why postpone their marriage until another option – you – came along? What happened to redress the balance of power?" Jasper looks troubled. He wrinkles his brow as we both contemplate the implications of this news.

We recognise the answer simultaneously. "Alice," we chorus.

"Charles found a way to get the girl, bring her home and use her as a tool of negotiation. Once he had Alice living in his home, he could easily threaten Black with exposure," I muse.

"But exposure to whom?" asks Jasper.

"The Bishop? No, his father. Black was made to leave the ancestral home, but his father has not disowned him, has he? Black is still in line to inherit his father's title and land and considerable wealth."

"Exactly," agrees Jenks. "Lord Black is well known for his holier-than-thou attitude. I imagine he would disinherit his son at the drop of a hat if half of his misdeeds were known to him."

"Speaking of Black's misdeeds," I say, "Have you discovered the nature of the house that he frequents in Covent Garden?"

Jenks looks more grave than usual – a feat indeed. "I have." He nods.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"You are not going to like this, Sir. You will not be very happy at all."

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The children are missing from the alley in which I encountered Black last time. The place is dank and smells of human waste, poverty and hardship. It is disheartening to think of innocent children playing in the dirt here, and I am glad they are gone.

Jasper and I stand well back as Jacob pounds on the door. Eventually it opens a crack, and the strong coachman pushes against it hard with shoulder and thigh. Whoever is behind it is no match for Jacob's brute strength, and he is half inside before we have moved.

By the time we have covered the few yards between us and pushed our way through the door, the struggle is over. Jacob has the arms of a burly, brutish middle-aged man tight behind his back. He looks red-faced and furious, and attempts to spit at my feet, but Jacob yanks him backwards and brings his knee up hard between the brute's legs from behind. His knee must make contact with something precious, because the man's face turns purple, and he begins to wheeze.

"Are you all right here Jacob? Do you need help to secure him?"

"No my Lord," he replies, "You go on up. I've got this one."

As his voice betrays no effort at all, I have no qualms leaving him to his job. The stairs are right beside the front door, so Jasper and I make our way quietly up them.

There are two doors on the first floor, and another flight of stairs leading up to the second. I decide that surprise is better than delicacy, and open the first door quickly.

The room inside is dark and smells strongly of stale body. There is a small bed, unmade, and an open chest, overflowing with the detritus of female life. Stained petticoats, little shoes, stockings, a grubby-looking corset – all jumbled together as though meaningless and undesired. I shut the door quietly behind me, and turn to the next one.

Jasper pushes the door open in this room, wide enough so that we can both see what, or who, is within.

This room is clearly a parlour that shares existence as a bedchamber. There are a few chairs, a scuffed and fraying rug on the floor, and two daybeds, roughly made up with blankets and pillows.

Three young girls startle as we enter. It appears as though one has been combing lice from the others' hair. They are only partially dressed, all of them in greying, full-length petticoats that leave their narrow, scarred shoulders exposed to our troubled eyes.

No girl speaks. They stare at us wide-eyed, fearful and silent. They are so young – entirely undeveloped, their bony little bodies malnourished and, honestly, not very clean. I vividly recall playing with Charlotte when she was this age, and I want to cry. Tears prick at my eyes, and my throat constricts. That Black comes here – that he is here regularly – I feel ill.

"Good afternoon," says Jasper, as though entering a room full of undressed little girls is an every-day occurrence. "We met the man downstairs. Is there anyone else at home?"

The girls shake their heads dumbly, but one of them glances towards the stairs. I decide to go and check, and tell Jasper as much. He nods at me. As I begin to climb the second staircase I hear him ask in a pleasant voice, "May I sit down?" I can hear no response.

The two rooms upstairs are furnished a little better, but are equally unclean, and entirely empty of people. The larger room clearly houses the couple who run the brothel. I poke through their belongings, looking for identification, and find plenty. There is a bookkeeper's journal, half-filled with carefully recorded transactions that I pick up and take with me.

The smaller room is much like the one directly below it, only this one has decorations on the walls. Specifically, a large wooden cross, and a likeness of Jesus gazing lovingly into the squalid space.

It makes me shudder.

Back on the first floor, Jacob has brought a suffering and restrained brothel master upstairs with him. His hands remain tight behind his back, and there appears to be a rag in his mouth. I would almost feel concern for him if it weren't for the sheer terror on the faces of the children in the room.

Almost as soon as I enter the parlour, the front door below opens and closes with a bang. Voices and laughter are heard on the stairs, and the rich and sickening smell of hot meat fills the air.

A rotund and cheerful looking woman enters, eyes down at first as she fiddles with the ribbon under her chin. The young girl behind her stops short, dropping her basket as her hands come up to her mouth. The woman senses something remiss, and looks up sharply.

"Bill!" she shrieks, "Bill! Bill!" as though the man can do anything to save her.

"Calm yourself, Madam," I snap, and she leaps back to drag the little girl in front of her. She holds her tightly, and the large, brown eyes in the pale face at the height of the woman's bosom challenge me defiantly.

Where have I seen that look before?

"What do you want? There's no money, I swear it, we keep no money in the house. Is it the girls you's wanting? You can have 'em, take 'em, all of 'em, but not this one. This one stays. She stays, I tell you!"

I think the woman's shrill tone may damage my ears. "Sit down, keep quiet and listen," I order, my tone brooking no argument.

Thankfully I have not altogether lost my authority, and both the woman and the new little girl obey me instantly.

"Jacob, I believe you can remove the gag now, but take heed, Man," I address the foul fool sweating in his seat, "You will listen and not speak until I ask you to. Understood?"

He nods slowly, and Jacob pulls the rag roughly from his maw. The man drags in air as though his breath has been constricted, though it has not.

I begin again. "My name is Lord Edward Masen, and I am your new landlord. I am, in fact, here to evict you."

At this news, the woman and two of the girls cry out, but Jasper hushes them.

"The children will remain in my care, but you and your wife will have to find alternative accommodation. And let me warn you now, if you intend to remain in London, you had better not begin another little set up like this, because if you do, you will not see the outside of a prison again. Do you understand me?"

The man nods sullenly. I can tell he would like to challenge me, but is fully aware that the odds are not in his favour.

"Good. You have half an hour to gather your belongings and say goodbye. And do not try my patience, because it is short!"

Jacob begins to untie his prisoner's hands. The woman, sensing some kind of compassion behind my gruff tone, pulls the only dressed girl to stand in front of me.

"Thank you for your kindness Sir," she says, curtseying in an odd manner. "This one comes with me, Sir. Belle comes with me. She's mine, Sir. Tell him, Belle, tell the gentleman."

Belle? Belle, with large brown eyes and long, wavy brown hair? The resemblance is sickening. I crouch down in front of the youngster and look into her eyes. I see fear, challenge, and something else. She looks torn.

"Belle? Is that your name?"

"If you please, Sir. I mean, if it pleases you. I mean... yes Sir." Her words trip over her tongue, as though she has rehearsed a play but forgotten her lines as soon as the curtain rose.

"Is this your mother, Belle?"

She looks trapped for an instant. I can see the woman's hand gripping her shoulder, hard.

"Um – nyes Sir." She was going to say no, and changed her mind. She sounds horribly unsure.

"Stay here, Belle. And you," I stand up and level my eyes at the woman. "Leave the room. You only have twenty-five minutes remaining."

I see the look of sly determination, born of panic, cross her face; I see her hand slide up Belle's neck, under her loose hair. I see the way her lips tighten as she pinches the little girl, and I see the look of pain on the girl's tiny face.

I lose my temper. My wife was right, I am not safe when I am apart from her.

I hit the woman.

I am already in shock before my open hand lands forcefully on her shoulder, knocking her backwards and slightly off balance.

I only meant to knock her away from the child, but the blow was much harder than that intent necessitated.

She is not badly injured. Her glare is probably directed at me for finding her out, rather than the punishment I inflicted.

"Get out of here, before I do something I truly regret," I hiss.

I look guiltily at my companions as she scuttles out of the room behind her husband, who has not shown the slightest bit of interest in my attack. Jasper looks a little shocked, but Jacob merely shrugs his shoulders.

"I would've done much worse to her," he mutters.

I return my attention to Belle, as Jasper urges the other three to get themselves dressed.

"Are you all right?"

She shrugs. "Yes Sir."

"Can you tell the truth, Belle?"

"Yes Sir!" She huffs indignantly.

"Then do so. Is that woman your mother?"

"No Sir." There is no hesitation now.

"Who is she to you?"

"She says she is my aunty, Sir, but she is not."

"How did you end up here, Belle?"

"Please Sir, my name isn't Belle Sir. My real name is Miriam. They took me."

"They took you?"

"Yes Sir. They took me from the Jewish quarters. I am a Jew." She speaks proudly, defiantly, as though expecting my disgust, and not caring a biscuit for it.

I like this girl.

"Do you know Mr William Black, Miriam?"

"Yes Sir." She turns her head away to the side, and spits furiously onto the carpet. Clearly a behaviour she has learned from her despicable guardians.

I smile. "I like your attitude, Miriam. I think you and I are going to be great friends. Would you like to help me ruin Mr Black?"

She regards me curiously. This brave, spirited child, clearly adept at making the best of a bad situation, calculates her chances – I can see her mind working in her expressive, beautiful eyes.

"You want to ruin Mr Black?" she asks, curiosity winning over caution.

"So, so badly," I reply.

"Me too," she says. "I want to ruin him too." And she holds her tiny hand out to mine.

I take it gently in my large one, and shake it.

Her trust in me moves me greatly. For the first time, I feel as though I could be someone's father.

A good father. One that my own would be proud of.

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_**A little extra background information (before the history buffs amongst you tell me off): a gentleman in line to inherit a title and land would not normally take up a profession, in the church or otherwise. However, Lord Black is a deeply religious man, and expected his son to raise up through the ranks of the church to take a leading role. He insisted upon his serving God through Ordination. **_

_**As for the arrest of the brothel owner and his wife, there is not much they could really be charged with, unless Lordward could prove that they kid**__**napped the children from their parents – something that did not occur to him when he made his plan. He can only evict and threaten them. **__**Yes**__**, he did**__** purchase the house in order to do so**__** – the **__**entire row, in fact. He is a rich and powerful man.**_

_**There are at least six readers that I meant to respond to since last posting, and I am so frustrated that I did not**__**. I tend to open a bunch of reviews at once, and respond when I have ti**__**me. My computer crashed in new and interesting ways, and I was never able to recover the reviews I had open. I'm sorry. **__**Time has been so scarce.**__** I love hearing from you, and you say such lovely things to me.**_

_**I'm Gingerandgreen on Twitter. Say hello.**_


	26. Chapter 25 The Power and The Glory

_**Thanks and heartfelt appreciation to Ms Meyer, Cared and MM.**_

_**Gentle Readers,**_

_**I approached this chapter with dread. Many of you have pleaded for retribution, and each time you did – knowing what was in store – the devil on my shoulder whispered 'be careful what you wish for'. This chapter delivers retribution, but if you are not disturbed by it, you have a stronger stomach than I. **_

_**Rather than a dedication, chapter 25 comes with a warning. There are references to the abuse of children throughout, never explicit, but sufficiently clear as to leave no doubt. The chapter ends with a description of violence between two adults (not Lordward) that you may wish to avoid. If so, please stop reading when Lord Black stands and bids William to rise also.**_

_**Take my hand...**_

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**Chapter 25 – The Power and The Glory**

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21 October 1795

My Wife, My Darling, My Heart,

Do you know how hard it is to be away from you? If you were in my arms tonight, I would bury my head within your bosom and merely breathe your perfect perfume. I would kiss your little round belly until it was smothered in kisses, then I would delve between your soft thighs until your honey bathed my face and you cried those sweet, sweet cries you make. Dear Lord, I want you so badly. I want you to talk some sense into me, my Darling, for I am in a deep, deep fury, and I want to tear a man apart. I want to strip him of his clothing and his dignity, and beat him until his flesh is as black as his name. If you were here, if you were here... Soothe me Love, whisper your calm sense into my ear, and stroke my brow as you do – I have imbibed too much liquor. Jasper bade me write to you, but in truth, I should not heed him, because I do not wish to sully your innocence with my news.

I have that thought, and then I recall that the fiend has had his hands on you, Beloved, and the fire that grips me when I think of it burns me so fiercely, I can hardly stand it. I rise from my chair and pace – we are at the club, because I could not be at home. There is no Home, Isabella, lest you are in it.

My housekeeper is not pleased with me. She is lucky to remain in my employment, after this evening. They are children, Bella, little, little children. They have experienced enough of the world of grown men to be older than you in their little hearts my dear, but they are only girls. "This is no orphanage, Sir," she says. "Take them to the Church, My Lord." Hah! The Church – much fucking good the Church will do a little Jewess. No, I told her – she thinks they are dirty because of where they have been, what they have had done to them. Well, I said, who pays you, woman? Who could boot you on to the streets so fast without a reference, you would be forced into the same profession? That shocked her, Bella. Those girls need kindness, a mothering hand. They will go to Mrs C tomorrow, she will take good care of them. Jacob has arranged it all. Except for Miriam. Miriam accompanies us.

Do you know what he did to her? Yes, he stripped her, beat her, defiled her. But what is worse, Bella, what is so much worse – he defiled her very soul. He forced her into prayer to a God she does not believe in. She was stolen from her home, from the very bosom of her family – she is someone's treasured daughter. It breaks my heart, and Jasper's too. My brother cried when we heard her story, Bella. And there were other girls, before her. I do not know how many, but they knew their fate – they all did. When the girls outlived their usefulness, the despicable couple who ran the house would smuggle them to the river, a deserted spot, and drown them. Like kittens, or unwanted puppies! But that woman, that witch, she loved Miriam, somehow, and she did not want the same fate to befall her, so she told her what would happen – they were hatching a plan for her escape. Miriam says she was pretending to return her love, so that she could run away – she believes she can return to her family. But Bella, do you think they will take her in, when they know what has been done to her? None of the other girls believe it. They fear returning to their parents almost as much as being drowned, but that will never happen. They are gone to Forbrigg, as soon as fast is broken. Except for Miriam, for she comes to hunt that devil with Jasper and I, and together we will ruin him. He will rue the day he crossed my path, sweet Bella. I swear it.

I have broke my pen three times, Isabella. This is the last of it. I love you, I cannot wait to return to your arms, but I have a job to do before I may. Keep my bed warm for me, Love. I kiss you, kiss you, kiss you.

Edward Masen.

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22nd October 1795

Dearest Isabella,

I pray this letter reaches you before my last, and entreat you not to read it. Please, my darling, if you respect your husband, please set fire to the drunken ramblings I penned last night. I do not recall exactly what I wrote, but there is enough in my memory to beg you not to read it. If I am too late, I can only apologise deeply, and ask you to refrain from judgement of my character until you have heard the tale in its entirety.

In short, we have unearthed a den of sin of the most despicable kind, that your former suitor helped to fund. His filthy actions have left a number of young girls, abused and damaged almost beyond repair, homeless and afraid. They are sent to Forbrigg this very morning, to receive the care and rehabilitation shown to all our waifs and strays. In the meantime, one little girl accompanies my brother and I to Lord Black's estate, where we hope to destroy his good opinion of his heinous son.

I miss you very deeply, and long to talk to you with all my heart. We will return home to you as soon as we are able. You may write to me – should you still care to do so, and my hope of that is slim, but intense – at the inn called White Hart.

Yours, always yours my love,

Lord Edward Masen.

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Black's lands are extensive, easily as large as Forbrigg, perhaps richer. He owns much livestock, and there is a busyness to the land that I recognise – signs of a tightly run ship abound.

The man is as much feared as respected in the surrounding villages. There are three that we have passed through, well-spaced in a triangle around the land. The only inn sufficiently large enough to accommodate us is in the furthest corner.

The villagers appear to be pious and hard working; at least, that is what they'll have us believe when they understand we are here to visit the lord. He is at home, and is very regular in his habits, according to the locals.

Jasper and I would visit him straight away, but Miriam surprises us with her wisdom.

"Mr Black does not like to be disturbed in the evening, Sir. Perhaps his father is the same? My father preferred to discuss business in the mornings. He spends his evenings in prayer."

It hurts my heart to hear her talk about her own father – she does not know whether to speak of him in the past or present tense.

"You make a good point, little Miriam. We are all tired from the journey. I cannot imagine leaving the inn again, now that we have eaten."

The girl smiles proudly up at Jasper and myself – she is a rare treasure. She had only been in Black's clutches for six months or so before we found her. I suspect she was her father's little princess before that.

I cannot imagine what it must have been like, to be snatched off the streets in that manner. She is very resourceful, to have befriended that foul woman as she did. I would like to believe, despite everything, that the real father of this child would be proud of how well she has survived. I fervently hope she is correct in her belief that he will take her back.

If it were me – well. I am privileged to be in a very different position to a Jewish man in London. I have a great deal more than money behind me. I have never before recognised such an appreciation of my own power.

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The inn is busy. Jasper and I are forced to share our sleeping accommodation, while Miriam takes a hastily made up cot in an adjoining dressing room.

We eye the bed warily. It is not huge.

Jasper shrugs, and sits to pull off his boots. "I will sleep well, regardless Edward. We can begin the night by sharing, and if you cannot abide me, kick me out. I will take the floor."

I nod, too weary to argue, and begin to make myself ready for the night. In all my years, the only person I recall sharing a bed with is my wife. I doubt my brother will be a fraction as pleasant, but beggars cannot choosers be.

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"Edward! Edward, wake up! You are frightening the child, brother. Hush now, wake up!"

I blearily open my eyes as Jasper roughly shakes my shoulder. The room is very dark, but sufficient moonlight creeps through the shuttered windows to illuminate a wide-eyed, bare-footed child, standing like a ghost in silent fear at the foot of my bed.

I am disorientated. Where are we again? I shake the sleep from my head, and turn to Jasper. "Stop! I am awake."

A little sense returns to me. I am sitting upright as a soldier on the lumpy bed, the counterpane tangled between my legs. What am I doing?

"Why did you wake me? Is something wrong?" I turn back to Miriam. "Are you all right, Sweetheart? Did something scare you?"

Her eyes are huge and dark in her little white face. She merely stares at me.

"I believe that the person who frightened her would be you, Edward. What were you dreaming?"

I shake my head again. Was I dreaming? I recall nothing.

"Do you do this often? Poor Bella. To think, you make her share your bed every night," my brother mumbles, mainly to himself I think.

"I do not _make_ her share my bed," I hiss, motioning my head towards the child. Lord alone knows what she might think of me now. "Bella is my wife – she chooses to sleep with me. She has her own room, Jasper!"

"You would think she would use it more often, if this is how you sleep," he mutters.

"I have no idea what you mean." I haul my weary body out of the bed, and offer my hand to Miriam. She has never looked so young as she does now.

She regards my hand for a long moment, before slipping her little one into it. She is cold; her palm is clammy.

"You were shouting," she whispers.

"I am sorry, Sweetheart. Did I scare you?"

She nods solemnly. Even though my head is bent towards her, she has to tilt her neck back in order to look up at me.

"Shall I tuck you back in bed? I could tell you a story. Or sing – I know a few songs you might like. Would you like me to sing to you?"

She nods again, relief gathering in her eyes, smoothing the worry away from her forehead.

She tugs on my hand in silence, and we make our way back to her little bed. She clambers in, and I arrange the covers gently around her small body. "Are you warm enough?"

It is darker in here; I can only just make out the movement of her head, up and down.

"This is a song my wife sings to me sometimes. She has a beautiful voice – like a bird, or an angel. Sometimes I call her my angel. I hope you get to meet her one day." And I begin my song, the words and the melody enveloping us in the warmth of the homes we both long for.

Miriam settles down with a soft, contented sigh.

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The Black residence is as old as it is grand; which is to say - very.

The butler looks almost as ancient as the tiled floor. Perhaps he came over with the Romans.

"Forgive me, but I am not certain his Lordship is receiving visitors this morning, Sir. I will announce your presence, however."

"Tell him I am here with important information regarding his son. I strongly recommend he receives me, or the Bishop will be my next stop."

The servant's impassive face betrays little emotion. "Very well, Lord Masen." He bows as low as his arthritic shoulders will allow, and shuffles slowly out of the grand receiving room.

Behind me, Miriam hops nervously from foot to foot. I regard her with suspicion. I recall the effect of fear on a young bladder. Eleven is not so very old. I have witnessed grown men pissing themselves in fear.

I bend down to whisper in her ear. "Would you feel more comfortable after a quick visit to the rose garden?"

She flushes, but nods eagerly.

"Come on then." I hold my hand out to her. "Jasper, I cannot believe that spring chicken will return before we do, but make him wait if he does."

Jasper agrees, although he obviously has no idea of what we are up to.

We hurry out of the room and through the thick oak door to the front of the property. There is a stand of trees not too far off that will have to do. Miriam has to scurry to keep up with me.

I turn my back as she squats behind the thickest trunk, and stare at the house that William Black was raised in. The stone walls extend forbiddingly across the cobbled driveway, towards a slightly more modern section built of brick. Windows are few and far between; those in the older, stone section are mean and dark. The windows in the extension are shuttered, but the shutters are all open to the cold, damp morning. Every part of the structure is unadorned, but well-cared for. There are none of the flowering trellises that sprawl over Forbrigg, and there are no rose gardens, or anything else pretty, as far as the eye can see.

I can hear that Miriam is done. She rises and comes to stand behind me as a door in the far brick section opens.

A furtive figure slips out of it. Hatted head bent low, the man hurries over the cobbles, heading away from us, towards the corner of the house.

I would know that vile figure anywhere. By Miriam's stifled gasp, I deduce that she would, too.

I put my hand briefly on her shoulder. "Stay right there, Miriam. Do not move." I spare her a quick, intent glance. "I mean it!"

Then I run.

My expensive shoes allow the press of every cobble to make its presence known on the soles of my feet, but they are quiet, and I easily approach my foe before he knows I am there. I reach out and grasp him by his collar.

He chokes in shock.

"Where the devil do you think you are going, you weasly little coward?" My calm tone belies the menace I feel towards him, and the threat implied in my words.

Black does not reply, but it is as well for him.

I spin him around, and begin to march him back towards Miriam. "There are some things I would like to say to you, William Black; but there are others with me who will have their say first."

When we are near the front door, I gesture for Miriam to join us. She runs in our direction, but keeps well away from the bastard squirming in my grasp.

We enter the house, and find Jasper pacing in the dark-paneled hallway.

"Oh, look what you have found," he exclaims, striding over to us and gripping Black's jaw in his hand as the man squirms helplessly in front of me. "Your father declines our visit, but I think you may persuade him otherwise."

"Lead the way, _Vicar_. Take us straight to Lord Black himself, no deviating. I want to see the devil that spawned you with my own eyes." I allow his heels to touch the floor again, but maintain my grip on his clothing. I can see where the grease and sweat has stained his collar and shirt. Everything about this man disgusts me.

"Take Mr Masen's hand, Miriam. Stay close, and do not let go." I hear her hurrying to obey my command, and we make our furious procession through the house.

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Lord Black sits at a mean writing desk in a large, draughty room.

In another house, I might call this room a library, but there are very few books in evidence. A vast, likely Tudor, wall hanging covers much of the stone wall to one side of the large hearth. It appears to depict a map, perhaps of the original estate.

The other side of the wall next to the mantel houses a very large wooden cross, reminiscent of the one we found hanging in the room that housed Miriam. This cross, however, could be the great-grandfather of its much smaller copy. It dominates the space.

William makes a frightened cough, but his father remains intent upon his work. "I told you not to disturb me, boy. Go away," he barks.

William remains silent.

Lord Black must become aware of the atmosphere in the room; or perhaps the presence of not one body, but four, alerts him to the invasion of his private space. He suddenly raises his head, and stares at us in consternation. I watch his eyes roll from his son, still gripped fiercely by my steady hand; to my brother, standing, shoulders squared, one hand behind his back, on my left; taking in the little girl clinging to Jasper's other hand; before shifting them back to me, and in consequence, his offspring.

Lord Black narrows his eyes with suspicion.

"What," he asks, enunciating very slowly, "Is the meaning of this deposition?"

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I am surprised when Black finds sufficient backbone to introduce Jasper and I to his father. He ignores Miriam entirely, as does the elderly man.

Lord Black, at seventy-eight, is as lined and grey as an ancient wizard, but his pale blue eyes are sharp, and his movements, when he rises to greet us, are strong and sure. He is a well-aged man; he could easily outlive his weak and wiry descendant.

I am forced to release the son to take the hand of the father, though I would rather not greet him so cordially.

He invites us to sit, so we do. Miriam attempts to kneel at Jasper's feet, but he pulls her easily onto his lap, bringing her to the attention of the Lord for the first time – almost as though she did not exist until now.

"Send the child out to play," he says.

"No." I am adamant, and shake my head at her in case she attempts to obey him.

Lord Black looks affronted. He is unused to being thwarted in his own home, and I have now done so twice.

"I will take her," William announces suddenly, hopeful desperation in his tone. "Come on, Belle, come with me."

Jasper grips her tightly around the waist. She leans away from her tormentor, attempting to disappear into the body of her saviour.

"Oh no. Absolutely not. _Miriam_," I emphasise her name, "Is to stay exactly where she is."

Lord Black considers me carefully. "I see. Why?" Despite the shortness of his expression, his tone is not rude. He seems to me to be curious at present.

"Because she has an accusation to make, that you will wish to hear, Lord Black."

His sharp eyes shift backwards and forwards between the little girl and me. Finally, they land appraisingly on his son. He raises a bushy grey eyebrow, and William breaks out in a sweat.

The lord shifts his attention back to me. We are equals in a way. In the eyes of society, we are similar in rank; social standing; wealth. He is a great deal older than me, it is true; and he is clearly entirely comfortable in his role as leader in almost every situation. We are in his home, and he assumes I will defer to him. He does not _try_ to intimidate me with his stare; merely expects me to be intimidated.

But he does not know the people of Norfolk, and the training I have received in dealing with all attempts to influence my resolve. I have no fear that I will bow to this man's will, no matter how successful his evangelical zeal is in every other situation.

I do not shift my gaze from his. He must see the anger I hold within, and the confidence I bear that I will leave here the stronger man. I notice as soon as he decides to offer me his respect. I could not say how I know, but a subtle change overcomes us both. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the tremor in William's hands.

Good. We all know where we stand, now.

"Well? Who does the child accuse, and of what?" Lord Black addresses me, as Miriam is beneath his notice, but his eyes flick towards her several times.

"Miriam?" I lean forward and smile gently at the brave, frightened girl. "Could you tell Lord Black where you have been for the last six months or so?"

She sits up a little, and opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Jasper soothes her, stroking her back in small, firm circles. She clears her throat and tries again.

"I was stolen from my mother and father, and taken to a house. They locked me in a room and gave me no food or drink until I promised to do as I was told. They took away my clothes, and made me – do things – that I did not want to do. Ever, ever, ever."

Her voice is quiet, but does not falter, except when trying to describe the things she was made to do. Perhaps she does not possess the vocabulary, or perhaps the 'things' are too abhorrent to be described in this place; but we all know what she infers.

"That is all very tragic and unpleasant," says Lord Black, addressing me once again. "However, I do not see what it has to do with me."

_Ah, but you are lying, Lord Black,_ I think. _I saw your eyes flick towards your son as you spoke that untruth. How much are you aware of, I wonder?_

"Please continue, Miriam," I say. "You are being so very brave." I smile at her, and though she does not return the gesture, she accepts it and takes resolve from it.

"After a time, when I was very weak and hungry, they told me a man was coming from the Church. They told me he would baptise me, and chase the demons out of me, because I was the devil's child. When _he_ came," she pointed an accusing finger at William, "He did terrible things to me. He stripped me and beat me, and made me say things that I know, _I know_ to be wrong. But the worst times were when he took his clothes off, too. You are an ugly, dirty man, Mr Black, and I do not believe that _any_ god loves you for what you did, yours or mine. I hate you, William Black, and I hope _you_ go to Hell!"

She turns her face away and sobs quietly into Jasper's chest. He strokes her hair, glaring ferociously at William. If he could hurt the man with looks alone, he would be tortured with pain by now.

"Thank you, Miriam. You are a good girl, a very strong, good girl. I believe Mr Masen should take you outside now, and I will finish this conversation alone."

Jasper looks torn – he does not wish to leave, but with his caring nature, he obviously wants to comfort the girl. I glare at him, willing him to obey me. I need him to, if I wish to maintain my upper hand.

Thankfully he seems to receive my communication, and stands to leave the room, Miriam still clasped in his strong arms.

"I will remain close by, should you need me." He whirls sharply on his heel and points a finger at Black. "And you – you and I have a score to settle, Sir. You attempted to lay a hand on my wife, and I demand recompense before we leave here today."

Jasper exits the room, thereby missing the look of astonished displeasure on Lord Black's face. My brother's accusation apparently holds more weight than a wronged child's.

Meanwhile, William has been frantically thinking of a cover story.

"Poor little girl," he says, weakly. "Her parents came to me because they were convinced she was beset with demons. They were obviously correct. I mean, who would believe lies as blatant as those?" He raises his eyebrows and looks at me – almost pleadingly? Does he think I will protect him?

I am confused; or dumbfounded, I am not certain which.

I lean forward, my elbows on my thighs, my fingers drumming speculatively on my knees. "Is that your story, William Black?" My voice is soft with contempt. "I have closed your little, sordid brothel down, kicked the couple who ran it onto the streets, and found a home for all the children in it. And what do you think I found in there, _Vicar_?"

A high-pitched, frightened laugh inadvertently escapes William's lips. He glances nervously at his father. "What?" he hisses at me.

"You will be pleased to hear this, Lord Black, because I know you are a respected business man, and understand the value of exemplary record keeping." I spare a glance for the father, then train my glare back upon the son. "I found records going back years into the past. Records of payments: who paid; what was paid for; how long was required; the names and ages of the children who were abused; how they came to be there. Your name was mentioned frequently, Mr Black. And do you know what was_n__o__t_ recorded?"

William now looks terrified. He shakes his head slowly.

"What happened to the girls when you were finished with them? Where did they go, year after year, when you were done exorcising their demons? When they were broken by your disgusting, despicable treatment? Where are those girls now, William Black?"

"At home with their families?" His whispered reply shocks me at a time when I think nothing further about this man _could_ shock me.

"No. No, they did not return to their families. The majority of them have no folk to return to, I fear – except for Miriam. But then, it is difficult to return a drowned girl to the bosom of her family, is it not?"

Lord black has closed his eyes. Whether he has closed them against the accusations I am hurling at his son, or whether he is in prayer, is unclear. I suspect, from the way his hands are furiously grasped upon his lap, the latter.

"Then there is the matter of my sister-in-law. Mrs Jasper Masen. Nee Miss Alice Black."

Lord Black's eyes shoot open.

I continue in my most dangerous tone. "Daughter of Mr William Black and Miss Sarah Swan. Born in sin, in this very house, causing the death of her mother, and the birth of a monster. A monster who has made the lives of my beloved wife, my dear sister-in-law and my cousin's beautiful bride a living hell for as long as he was permitted to. And _that_ is why I came here today. You are going to pay for your sins, William Black, though no amount of pain in this life will be just retribution. I hope you live for a long, long time, you foul man, so that for every minute of every hour, you can contemplate the torture that awaits you in Hell."

I lean back in my chair, releasing a heavy, cold breath.

Lord Black stands. Anger suffuses his stark frame, making him look larger than the man he appeared to be when we arrived.

In a very controlled tone, he orders his son up out of his chair.

William closes his eyes briefly before obediently rising.

"Take off your shirt."

I hear the chilling order, but my ears are slow to comprehend. Unease uncoils slowly in the pit of my stomach as William turns his back to his father, undoes the buttons of his waistcoat with fumbling fingers, and pulls the clothing from his upper body with shaking hands. Without waiting for further command, he drops to his knees at his father's feet and bends forward, touching his forehead to the floor.

I shift in my chair. I am not at all certain this scene is something I wish to witness.

Lord Black reaches into a stand beside the fireplace, and pulls out what I could only describe as a switch. Something between a cane and a whip. He flexes it several times.

The tableau unfolds as though I am not present. I feel as though I am witness to a play. Lord Black braces himself with a wide stance, while his son braces himself against the cold stone floor. The old man raises his arm, and with a practised – almost elegant – flick of the wrist, cracks the implement against the younger man's bare flesh. A line of blood immediately wells to the surface of his skin.

I only have sufficient time to swallow the bile that rises in my throat, before his wrist flicks again, and another scarlet stripe appears.

Minutes ago, I craved violence. I wanted to physically hurt the man now almost prostrate on the floor so badly, my muscles ached from my restraint.

The switch strikes ten times before the man cries out. Ten red welts criss-cross his skin, droplets of blood fly, and I have not moved once.

Lord Black pays his son's cries no heed. He does not slow, let alone desist. As the younger man's pain resonates through the room, the father begins to pray. Loudly.

How many times has this very scene been enacted in this room? I imagine servants being ordered to scrub the blood from the flagstones, and my nausea increases. The thought finally allows me to jump to my feet. I cannot turn my back on the spectacle, but I cannot stay to watch any further.

I almost want to stop him – to save the fiend, now a sodden, crumpled man, awash with blood and pain.

But then I think of all he has done, all the fear and misery he has wrought, and I find myself at the door. I exit hastily before compassion overwhelms me, but I am left wracked by guilt and shame.

Guilt for not allowing myself to feel compassion.

Shame for not acting on the compassion I do feel.

I am a mess. I am exhausted. I just want to go home.

I want my wife.

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_**Is everyone okay? You can let go of my hand now, it hurts. I'm here for you, but please, Gentle Readers, particularly anonymous ones, be there for me too. **_

_**Back to Seat in a fortnight – what might have been happening there while our hero charged around the countryside, trying to fix the world?**_

_**Please remember the charity compiliation in honour of the Twifan who lost her life at Comic Con, proceeds of which go to the Alzheimers Society. (Is that clear, confused guest reviewer who thought we were being asked to pay for funeral costs?) Please google Fandom4twifang or search Blogspot for more information.**_

_**Take care now. Gingerandgreen.**_


	27. Chapter 26 In the Name of the Father

_**Gentle readers,**_

_**You were fabulous last update. You are always fabulous, but I felt it so much after the last chapter. Thank you, thank you, thank you.**_

_**I **_**think****_ there is one more chapter and an epilogue after this one. Thanks once again to Ms Meyer for the loan of her characters; Cared, who has lots to celebrate this week, and has the prettiest eyes you ever did see; and MMM, who gained an extra M this weekend due to miracles and saintliness._**

_**This chapter is dedicated to those of you who have lost children, and those of you who have found them. There is nothing harder this life can throw at you than the loss of a child, whether at birth (as in this chapter – I'm sorry) or later in life. And there is no occupation more worthy than finding a lost child, and fostering him or her. I know I have readers who have lost children; and I know I have readers who have fostered children. My heart goes out to all of you.**_

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**Chapter 26 – In the Name of the Father**

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27 October 1795

The grounds of Cullen House are unusually quiet. I stride straight through the unlocked front door, and there she is, almost running down the hallway to greet me.

"Bella." I sigh her name in relief, and without pause, sweep her up into my arms.

"Edward!" My name sounds like a benediction from her lips.

I pull her close into my chest and bury my head in the curve of her warm neck. "I hope Em and Rose will forgive me, but I need you with an ardour that has no patience."

By the time my sentence has ended, we are at the foot of the stairs. I vaguely take cognisance of the sounds of my brother greeting his wife behind me, but do not pause. The time it takes for me to climb the stairs and reach the bedroom we share feels ridiculously drawn out.

As soon as the door has closed behind us, I set Bella on her feet.

"Please undress," I say, already unbuttoning my coat.

She stares at me wordlessly for a few seconds, before her fingers fly to the fastenings on her dress. I have shed my coat and waistcoat, and begin tearing the cravat from around my neck.

Bella allows her dress to pool at her feet and fumbles with the ribbons that lace her short corset. Her petticoat follows soon after.

Already shirtless, I bend to rip the boots from my feet.

Bella sits on the bed, daintily reaching around her curved belly to remove her shoes and peel off her stockings.

My breeches, underwear and stockings tangle together as I pull at them.

Before she even has a chance to remove the ivory silk from her left leg, I have pulled Bella up onto the bed. The room is chilled – the fire remains unlit – and her nipples form tight little buds.

I kiss her everywhere.

Every smooth stretch of pale flesh; every flushed inch of her, I caress with my lips and tongue. She tastes of home and love and life. She begins to call out my name in breathy, whispered cries. I roll her onto her side, and kiss my way up her delicate spine. When I reach her neck, I kiss and nip my way along her jaw, across her cheek, pressing my lips gently upon her fluttering eyelids. Her eyes are damp with tears.

Holding her tightly, her back pressed to my front, I push myself into her from behind. I have to still, once I am fully sheathed in her wet heat, just to feel the ecstasy of being inside her – where I belong.

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"I am so glad you are home, Edward. It has been difficult to be apart from you. Especially now."

We have cuddled together under the blankets, lying in much the same position as in which we made love. Her breasts fill more of my hands now, but her frame still appears small and delicate within my arms.

"Being away from you these past days has been physically painful. I am here now, my Love. I have so much to tell you."

She shifts her hips so that her bottom presses firmly into my hardening prick. I kiss and gently bite her smooth shoulder.

"What happened to the little girl? Did you take her home?"

I smile. "I did. You have never seen anything like it, Bella. To reach her house you had to walk down a narrow path from a busy street, until it opened into a courtyard. Every house around the small square contained a family related to Miriam. As soon as we entered, somebody shrieked her name, and they all came pouring out. All these people, Bella, from children in frocks to an elderly crone, all celebrating the safe return of one of their own."

"I am so glad. You are such a good man, Edward."

"That, I don't know. But you should have seen her father. He was last to enter the square – someone went to fetch him, I think he could barely hope to see what his ears were telling him. He came out of the largest house, very slowly, all hunched over. Everyone fell silent and watched him. Then Miriam said 'Papa?', like a question. This old man fell to his knees and opened his arms – she ran into his embrace, crying all the while, and I almost broke down myself. Then he stood up, lifting Miriam up into the air, and I realised he wasn't an old man at all. Just a man who had nearly broken with grief."

"No wonder she was so strong in the face of such adversity. With a love like that in her early years, she was bound to know how to withstand evil."

My heart flinches, because Bella does not appear to recognise herself in this frank assessment – she has been spectacularly strong all of her life, and can boast of no great love from either parent.

Well, she has great love from me. I lean up on my elbow and turn her head so that I can kiss her lips. Small moans escape her throat. I push myself further in to the flesh of her exquisite behind.

"Can I take you again? My desire for you is insatiable."

She giggles, and slides her thighs apart, opening herself up to me once more.

"You can, and you may. Oh!" She groans as my fingers part her lower lips and my cock presses into her again.

I grunt. What utter bliss.

In the silence that follows our second coupling, I begin to drift into a contented sleep. The house is very still. I can hear the birds praising the sunset, and the clock ticking quietly on the mantelpiece. Bella's breaths are as soft and calming as the waves in the distance at Forbrigg.

I am in the twilight between asleep and awake when I hear a baby cry.

"Bella?"

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"I did not realise that you didn't know, Edward. Did you not receive my letters?"

"No, Sweetheart. I thought it strange that I had not heard from you, but my mind was elsewhere. Tell me."

Bella wrings her hands nervously in her lap. "The girl was born first. She is small, but strong. She cried almost immediately, so we knew she was hale."

I smile. "What's her name?"

"Esmerelda Sarah Marie Cullen."

"Em has honoured many deserving women – that's good." I approve entirely. "And the other?"

"The boy was born still. He was not baptised."

My face falls. "He – he what? He died?"

"Yes. The physician said the labour took too long. Poor Rose was exhausted. She – Edward, they have taken it very hard. Rose is not herself at all, and Emanuel – well, I think he needs you. You should go to him."

"What do you mean?"

"Just – you should talk to him. He needs a man's support. He needs his friend."

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"Em."

He sits in his chair in the gunroom, staring at the dying embers in the fire. I move to stoke it, replenishing the wood, and he barely acknowledges me.

"Are you all right, Cousin?"

"Mm. Yes," he grunts, then recalls his inherent politeness. "Good to have you back, Edward. Thank you for dealing with everything."

I am not sure how to respond to that, so I do not.

"Tell me about your daughter, Em. Is she beautiful?"

He lifts his eyes to look at me, and the corners of his mouth soften. "She is so small. She terrifies me." His mouth drops into a hard line again.

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't know what I mean." He falls silent again.

I am at a loss. I would never have expected my cousin to act this way.

"Talk to me, Em. What's on your mind?"

"Ah, Edward." He sighs and shifts in his chair. "Have we seen the last of Black?"

"I sincerely hope so. His father assures me that, should the man ever rise from his bed again, he will remain in Dorset, under lock and key."

"Hmph. What happens when Lord Black kicks the bucket? Who will control his miscreant son then?"

"I made the same point. Black assures me William will be written out of his will in such a way that he will either be dirt poor, or will be forced to remain in a property on the estate until he dies. But I have to say, Em, I am not at all certain the man will survive his father. The beating he received..." Nausea grips my stomach again at the memory. "The following day, he had not regained the use of his legs."

"Really? Serves the bastard right."

I would like to agree, but I am still struggling with all I have witnessed in the past week or so. Besides, Em does not really seem to be engaged by the conversation.

"How is Rose?"

"Not good."

"Oh?" I cannot help but wonder why Em sits here all on his own, if his wife is ill.

"No. She ails. She ails."

I sit and stare at the fire in my own bewildered silence for a minute or five. Then I come to a decision.

"Right." I slap both hands down on my thighs.

"What?" Em's response is desultory.

"Enough. Up." I spring to my feet as I give Em my order. "On your feet man. Up you get."

He waves a hand at me in dismissal, but I am not having it.

"On your feet Emanuel Cullen. This is not a request." I grip him by his collar and haul. He is bigger than me, but there is strength in action that triumphs over inertia.

He rises and follows me out of the room passively.

We head for the billiard table. I open the cabinet and remove a couple of cues. I arrange the balls on the table, and indicate to Em to begin.

He responds as though he has been enchanted. His will has escaped him, and in its place is a shadow of the man I left behind in Seat.

He bends and shoots with as much skill as he usually shows.

"Right, Em. Talk. I want to know what the devil is going through your sorry head."

He shoots too hard, and the ball nearly flies off the table.

"Ah, Hell, Edward. I lost my son. My wife nearly died. My daughter is so small, I am frightened to breathe anywhere near her, let alone hold her. And the physician says if I touch my wife again within a year, I could kill her."

"What?"

"Yes, you heard me – he advised I take a mistress instead. I am a brute to have inflicted myself upon her at all. I will never touch her again Edward!"

"What?" I appear to have lost my capacity for intelligent thought.

"In one day I lost my only heir. I will never have another son, because I will never, ever endanger Rosalie like that again. You have no idea, Edward. No idea. The noises – and then the shouting stopped, and that was worse..." He breaks off, shuddering.

"Em." I hold my arms open to him, and he enters my embrace like a boy turning to his father. I almost expect him to cry, but he does not. We cling to one another, speechless, rocking gently for a few minutes. Then he pulls away, and slaps me on the back, reinstating his manliness.

I have no words of comfort.

"Can I see her?"

"Who, Rose? I do not think she is up to it yet, Edward."

"No, Em. Esmerelda. Can I see your daughter?"

He shakes his head, but I deduce it is at himself, because he gestures for me to follow him.

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The baby rests in Alice's arms. The wet nurse has seen to her, and they have brought her to show me before she is settled in her crib.

I am startled when Alice hands her to me, but hold out my arm for her regardless.

She is so tiny.

Her eyes remain closed, but her little face is alive with changing expressions. Her mouth twitches one way, then another. She makes a little fish pout, opening and closing her lips a few times. Her eyes scrunch up, then smooth again. It is fascinating, and comical to watch her.

Her legs, encased in soft cotton and lace, stretch out and retract. Her little fist rises towards her face, and just when I think she is going to hit herself in the nose, it stops mid-air.

She is so alive.

I look up to watch my cousin, who is regarding his baby daughter with awe on his face.

"She is such a gift, Em. Congratulations, my friend. You are a very blessed man."

He looks up at me, startled.

"Blessed?"

"Yes, Em. Blessed."

The baby yawns, and I cannot help but laugh.

"Look at her! She is so precious." I suddenly feel very serious. "Em, yesterday I returned a lost daughter to her father, and he attempted to give me every jewel, every guinea he owned to repay me. I told him that the look of utter joy on his face was payment enough. Do you know what I see in your face?"

He shakes his head, wordlessly.

"I see joy, Em. Here," I hold the child out to him. "Treasure her. Treasure your daughter, Cousin, because if she is the only child you ever have, she will fill every corner of your heart with joy."

He takes her from me awkwardly. Her head lolls a little, and I shake my head at Alice, who wants to jump in and take care of the babe. She retreats, and I smile at her.

"She is beautiful, is she not?" says her besotted father, voice low and reverent.

To be frank, I don't think she's beautiful at all. Her head is a little misshapen, and her cheeks are mottled an unusual colour. Perhaps she has yet to grow into her beauty. But I smile in agreement.

She opens her eyes at the sound of her father's voice, and gazes at him unblinkingly.

Em stares back at her, mesmerised.

We stand there in the nursery like lovestruck fools, until Em turns to Alice with an uncomfortable look on his face.

"Alice, I think she is wet."

Alice laughs. "Well, we had better get her changed then. Come here, little one. Let Aunty Alice have you. There's a dear." She continues to coo at her as she takes her away, although moving her makes her cry. Her little wail is piteous.

"My arm is damp." Em laughs, drawing his shirt sleeve away from his skin.

"And so the trouble begins." I am very amused by the quick change of heart Em displayed.

"I am going to spend some time with Rosalie. Do you have everything you need?" he asks.

"I will do, as soon as I find Bella. If she is with your wife, send her straight to me."

"Consider it done. Thank you."

I cock my head on one side and smile. "For what?"

"I think you know."

I nod. I do know. I know.

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_30th October 1795_

The service Jasper conducts to bless the remains of Fitzwilliam Cullen and recommend his soul to heaven is a testament to my brother's skill.

He finds words of comfort, but does not lessen the significance of his parents' pain.

Tomorrow he will christen Esmerelda, a far happier occurrence.

There is little time, as he has already delayed his departure to the Caribbean. We are concerned that winter storms may impede his passage, and he cannot afford to wait any longer. Em and Rose would not have anyone else conduct the ceremonies, however, and Jasper was eager to please them.

We eat a melancholy meal together. Rose retreats to her room before we are served the second course. Em is concerned that she is not eating sufficiently well, but Alice soothes him by explaining that she can only manage very small portions throughout the day until the pain in her heart lessens.

"Rose understands that she needs to sustain herself. Please do not fret, Mr Cullen. She will improve. We are none of us strangers to grief, Sir."

Em reaches over and squeezes Alice's hand in thanks. "You are grown very wise, Mrs Masen. I fear we will miss you terribly while you are gone."

"_Must_ you go?"

I am surprised by the frustration and petulance I hear in Isabella's voice.

She turns to me. "Really, Edward, must they go? Would the scandal be so very bad if they remained?"

"Bella," my brother interjects. "If we reside in England we have no chance to advance in society. I will struggle to gain any kind of foothold in the church, and Alice will always be in danger of feeling slighted. Besides, it is a great adventure, is it not? Would you take that away from your sister?"

Bella flushes prettily. "Oh no, Jasper. I am sorry, I do not mean to question you. I am allowing my own desires to impeded upon your happiness. Forgive me, please."

"There is nothing to forgive."

"Bella, did you know that your husband received a letter from Lord Black today asking for his permission to meet me?" Alice leans over the table to communicate her news conspiratorially, although we can all hear her clearly.

Bella turns to me. "Is that true? Why would he write to you? I do not understand."

"Because he's a pompous -" I have to muffle the word 'prick' in my napkin. "He only deigns to write to me because he sees me as his equal. Well, more or less. I am certain in his secret heart, he considers himself to be far superior. He actually wrote that although he will not acknowledge Alice as his granddaughter, he would like to see her with his own eyes before she departs for St Lucia."

"What will you say in reply?" Bella asks.

"Yes, Edward – that is a very good question. What will you reply?" Jasper smirks at me.

I look at Alice. "What would you have me say, Sister?"

She considers for a moment. "What does he say about my father?"

"He remains gravely ill. Although Lord Black dismisses his inability to walk as a kind of madness, the fact remains that the man apparently cannot stand on his own feet even to take a piss."

"Edward!"

"I beg your pardon, Bella. Alice."

"Speaking of madness, Wren and Charles will attend the christening tomorrow," says Em, to a chorus of pleased affirmations.

The gentlewoman we have hired to care for Genevieve has been a godsend. She has Charles completely under her thumb, and though Wren spends much of her time looking mutinous, she daren't disobey the woman. She has apparently taken more exercise in the past fortnight than she has done in her entire adult life.

Alice clears her throat, and we return our attention to the diminutive girl who holds my brother's heart in her palm.

"Please tell Lord Black that I refuse to acknowledge him as my grandfather, and therefore will not consent to meeting him now or until Judgement Day. Thank him kindly for the fifty pounds he has bequeathed me, and explain that it will be spent entirely on the girls whose lives his son has ruined."

She pulls her small frame up tightly and looks every person around the table in the eye. "Tell him that I have all the family I will ever want or need in this very house."

Such dignity. I am so proud of my newest sister.

"I will, Alice. If you will excuse me, I will write to him immediately."

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_**Are you all okay? Life is hard, isn't it? It's a small thing, but have a hug from me.**_

_**See you in a fortnight. Oh – don't forget to sign up to Fandom4twifang for a massive compilation written by some of my favourite authors, and a o/s from me, if you are inclined to read it.**_

_**Gingerandgreen here and on Twitter**_


	28. Chapter 27 Man and Wife

_**I have had such fun with these Twilight characters. Thank you, Ms Meyer.**_

_**MM contributed his extensive knowledge and experience to this chapter, even though he is overwhelmed with work. When he has time, I will show him how grateful we all are – we are, aren't we?**_

_**Cared weaved her usual wonderful magic, despite some fabulous sounding distractions in her fair city. I think you'll like my fix Hon, but it's not where I thought it would be. **_

_**This is the end (I can only sing that a la Pink Floyd in my head) bar the epilogue – more on that below. My washing pile is sentient (according to MM), my kitchen's a health hazard, my dog is fat, my garden is wild and my children have forgotten that I cook. Without a doubt, this chapter is dedicated to my long-suffering family.**_

_**Late one night at Forbrigg...**_

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**Chapter 27 – Man and Wife**

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"_But Papa, Mama is crying."_

"_No, she is working very, very hard. Come, you have some school work to finish up."_

"_But Papa..."_

"_Edward Anthony Masen! Come away now!"_

… …

"_Where's Mama?" _

… …

"_Where's Mama?"_

… …

"_Why is she in heaven, Papa?"_

… …

"_I will protect you, baby brother. They will not keep me away from you. I will always be there, I swear it. Don't cry."_

… …

"_Don't cry, Bella. Please don't cry... I will protect you... Don't go, Bella..."_

… …

"Bella!"

"What? What is it, Edward? Oh, Edward..."

The dream lingers at the edges of my consciousness, disorienting me for a few minutes.

We are in bed. My wife, round and hale, lies anxiously by my side.

"Sorry, Bella. I am sorry to wake you. Come here." I reach for her warmth, and pull her into my arms. We settle quietly for a little while, before she turns and presses her backside against me.

Cuddling softly, she is asleep again within minutes.

My wife is not the only person I disturbed. I can feel the babe squirming and pressing what feels remarkably like a foot into my hand, where it rests at the top of her belly.

I do not fall back into slumber, but quietly revel in the warmth of my wife's body as she sleeps.

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_25th December 1795_

The ballroom is full almost to bursting with the good folk of Forbrigg. It is extremely gratifying to see so many happy faces at our traditional nativity. My father must be looking down on us with great pleasure.

I only wish my brother were here, instead of battling heat and vaguely hostile staff in St Lucia.

Bella and I have been given the seats of honour, in the centre of the front row – almost like the king and queen of Forbrigg. The children not involved in the performance sit on the floor in front of us; adults are arranged in chairs around and behind us.

I can see the physician and the rector – a friend of a friend, standing in for Jasper for a few years - arguing over who should sit in the more prominent chair. It is status they fight over, not comfort, and their forced politeness is comical to watch. They may come to blows yet.

I have already decided I will not allow that man anywhere near my wife when she is in labour. He has no compassion at all, and little physical skill that I can discern.

My preferred choice of caregiver - a cause of slight scandal - is fussing over pinafores and hair adornments in the adjoining room. I know this, because I popped my head around the door to wish the performers well.

The midwife has taken on all three of our 'London Girls', as they have become known. Susan, Gillian and Mary are a handful, and I have the utmost respect for the woman who took them in.

Gillian was meant to work as a maid in the physician's house, ironically, but she did not last the morning. If the fool had understood about the stipend that accompanied each girl, he might have forced himself and his young wife to have more patience. I deliberately kept the knowledge of my and Alice's financial support a secret, until we were certain of a loving, caring home.

Despite her no-nonsense, straightforward attitude, there is no one in the world as accepting, open and caring as Marion Tyler, midwife to the parish.

Laurent walks out on to the area of floor we have designated 'the stage', and raises his hands for quiet. There is a twinkle in his eye I have not seen before. The man is a gifted manager, but I had no idea how much he would enjoy his role as compère. His enthusiasm, when I explained about our tradition of involving the entire village in our Christmas nativity, made me laugh.

I am reminded of my father's constant refrain – _hard work heals a man_. Laurent has worked exceedingly hard; and though I would not say he is close to being healed, his agony has softened. That much is clear from the expression in his eyes as he introduces the cast with great pride.

The children's choir Bella created and coached shuffles on to the stage. The boys are in ruffled blouses, with red silk cravats around their necks, and cummerbunds around their middles. The girls are prettier, in matching, ruffled pinafores with red silk ribbons at the waist and in their hair. The adults in the audience show their appreciation with a universal '_awww.._.'

Bella turns to me with a look of such pride and joy it makes my heart ache. I smile at her, and run my finger gently over her cheek. When it reaches her lips, she kisses it tenderly.

The day outside is very dark and gloomy, so the candle and firelight inside lights the children's faces with a warm, golden glow.

Everyone laughs as the girls push a reluctant Seth forward into the centre of the stage. The boy, much taller now, and terribly handsome, is very popular, even though he rarely speaks.

He may not speak much, but what my dear wife has discovered is that when he sings, he has the voice of an angel.

He stumbles into his allotted space, keeping his eyes firmly on his hymn book. A hush falls. He straightens, looks directly at Bella, and opens his mouth to praise God.

The music echoes around the high-ceilinged room as though we are in a cathedral, not a ballroom. The sound is beautiful. Even the smallest children are still as they listen – so I am highly aware of the manner in which Bella shifts on her seat every few minutes or so.

The rest of the choir joins in the hymn and no mistakes are made. We applaud them enthusiastically, and as we do so, I lean over and whisper in my wife's ear.

"Are you well, Bella?"

She smiles back radiantly, and nods, but there is a shadow of concern in her eyes.

"Is your chair uncomfortable? Shall I have someone fetch you a cushion?"

"No," she whispers in reply, showing me that she already has one. "I feel a little uncomfortable, but do not be concerned. It's nothing."

She smiles with such certainty that I settle down to listen to the next hymn with enjoyment.

I am relieved that plans to have Mary ride into my ballroom on a real donkey have been discarded.

The first Mary on stage – there are to be two – turns out to be Jessie. She is very pregnant, and glows beautifully. Mr Newton, her husband, applauds with great enthusiasm as soon as she appears. She winks at him, which makes us all laugh. I believe she enjoys married life as much as I do. I am very happy for her.

As Jessie stumbles wearily around 'Jerusalem' on Joseph's arm, she acts the part of a woman about to go into labour very well. Almost too well. She waddles along, stopping every few steps to rub her back or her belly, quite stealing the show from those with speaking parts.

Bella leans forward slightly, and takes my hand. She squeezes it almost painfully every time she laughs. This must be such a new experience for her. Christmas celebrations in Seat were spent reading lessons in church, as far as I can tell. I am very glad to be able to share this joyful tradition with her.

The nativity is longer than usual. Laurent wished to involve as many members of the community as possible, something which curried him great favour amongst the participants. He reads the final lesson, and the choir sing their last hymn. It was truly lovely – a masterpiece.

Bella leaps to her feet and begins applauding almost before the last notes die away. I follow her lead, and all the rest do the same. This is the first year the participants have received a standing ovation, and they are delighted.

My considerate wife has put small gifts together for the key players, and before the applause dies she approaches the stage with a basket. She enlists a little girl's help, and all the gifts are distributed. Laurent invites everyone to move to the tables in the adjoining room for a buffet luncheon, and gestures for Bella and I to lead the way.

Bella eyes her seat at the table with displeasure writ all over her features.

"Would you like a different chair, Sweetheart?"

"Actually Edward, could we walk around a little? I really do not feel like eating, and I would like to speak to people."

"Of course. Take my arm. We must go and congratulate Seth. Wasn't he a treasure?"

She nods happily, and we make our way around the room, smiling and chatting to people.

Well, I chat. Bella merely smiles.

She begins to cling to my arm very hard. I can feel her fingers through my sleeves.

"Are you tired, my Love? Would you like to sit now, or perhaps go upstairs to rest before church?"

She winces before she responds, and a twinge of alarm settles at the base of my spine.

"Bella?"

"I think a rest would be a good idea. I do feel a little strange."

I try to look into her eyes, but Bella seems more focused on internal matters than what is before her.

"Should I call someone upstairs for you?"

"Would you just walk me to my room, Edward?"

Her words are mild, but her tone is snappish. The twinge of alarm grows into a pinch.

"Come on then."

We quietly make our way out of the ballroom, and the sound of laughter and silverware becomes increasingly distant.

At the foot of the staircase, Bella comes to a complete halt. She looks up the stairs as though contemplating a mountain.

"Do you need me to carry you?"

The pinch of alarm is now full-blown unease. She turns towards me and nods tearfully. I stroke her hair.

"There now, Sweetheart, don't cry. Are you so very tired?" I curse myself internally for not planning this event better. Of course the excitement would wear Bella out, how did I not foresee this?

I sweep her up into my arms, but she cries out, and I almost drop her again in fear that I have hurt her.

"What's the matter Bella? Are you hurt?"

"Please Edward, I want to be alone. Please take me to my room."

It strikes me that she has requested 'her room', not 'our room' or 'your room'.

I swiftly climb the stairs, and as soon as we reach the top, she begs to be put down.

When we reach it, her room is cold and very quiet. I ring the bell for a maid to light the fire.

Bella paces slowly around the room, running her fingers contemplatively over the furniture. I turn down the bed covers – even the sheets are freezing. I will ask for a bed-warming pan too.

"Can I help you undress?"

No response.

"Bella? Can I get you anything, or help you in any way?"

No response.

I cut off her pacing by standing in front of her, and take her shoulders in my hands. "Bella? Where are you in that head of yours? You are making me worry."

"Oh, I am sorry, Edward. What did you want? It is a little warm in here, is it not?"

"No. Bella, it's freezing in here. You may as well be walking around the garden. Are you quite all right?"

I lay the back of my hand gently on her forehead. She may have a fever. Her eyes are bright, but their focus is very far away.

Her shoulders tense suddenly under my hands, and a small moan escapes her lips.

I have absolutely no idea what is wrong with her, but I do not like it. I do not like it at all.

"Isabella, talk to me woman! What is the matter? Tell me what to do!"

My fear makes my voice sharper than I intended, but it has the effect of snapping her attention back to me.

"Edward, go. Leave me. I will be fine. Stop fussing over me, please."

Bella never talks to me this way. Not unless she is very angry, anyway. The unease is about to become full-blown panic.

"Absolutely not. I am staying right here until someone comes to look after you."

"Well, then." She resumes her slow pacing, ignoring me as though I am of as little consideration to her as a frog in a pond.

I fold my arms stubbornly, and watch her.

Every few minutes, she stops, breathes hard – sometimes moans – and rubs the small of her back.

I ring the bell again, vehemently. I understand that everyone is occupied by the Christmas festivities, but this is ridiculous.

Finally, I hear a set of footsteps running to the door. There is a knock, and I swing it open furiously. Leah stands there, panting.

"What took you so long?" I snap. "Lady Mason is unwell. I need the fire lit, a warming pan, and..."

"Shall I fetch the midwife, my Lord?"

"What?"

Bella swings around and approaches us. "Please, Leah. If she is not too occupied. Thank you."

So she can be civil to the staff, but not me?

Then it strikes me like an iron to the head – the babe. Bella is about to give birth! My knees shake a little, so I straighten them hard, and pull up my spine. I run through the preceding hours in my head – perhaps I can pretend to have been aware all along?

Leah turns to run off again, and Bella calls her back. "Leah! Please bring me a bowl. Quickly!"

Leah takes one look at my wife and turns to grab a delicate china bowl decorating a table in the hallway outside the bedroom. She pushes it into my hands, and runs off, almost tripping at the edge of the stairs.

"Edward! Bowl." Bella indicates that I should place it within her reach, and as soon as I do, she leans over it to vomit.

Now my alarm begins to overwhelm me. I feel so – what is the word?

Helpless.

"Edward?" Bella half moans, half growls.

"Yes, Dearest?"

"Please go and fetch me some water."

I can do that.

"Yes, of course. Will you be..."

"Oh please, Edward!"

Moans and growls I can take, but pleading undermines me completely. "I will be back before you know it."

I almost trip in exactly the same place as Leah. There must be an uneven floorboard. I can organise to have that fixed immediately.

I almost slide down the stairs.

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When I reach Bella's room, I am met at the door with a firm "Thank you my Lord, that will do nicely." I have never been sent on my way in my own house before.

I return to the gathering below, and gently and politely shuffle every guest out of the door. Samuels and Laurent assist me, and Jacob and Seth give carriage and cart rides respectively back to the village.

I wish my brother were here. Or Em. What I wouldn't do for a friendly slap on the back from my cousin.

Laurent understands. Instead of leaving me to stew, he invites me out for a ride.

"There is a good hour of daylight left, Sir. We ought to make the most of it."

"But what if something happens to her while we are gone?"

He smiles pityingly at me. "It will take many hours yet, my Lord. You need to take your mind off it. Trust me."

"While I do trust you, Laurent, I am afraid I cannot leave the house."

"I understand. We'll have a game of billiards instead. It is more active than cards, and requires less concentration than other sports."

I consider his offer, hands tugging at my hair.

"All right, you are on. I have a good bottle of French brandy we can play for."

Laurent laughs. "If you want to see any of that brandy, you had better open it now."

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I have never played so badly in my life.

"I had better go. Will you be all right?"

I grunt.

"Here, take the rest of this. You deserve it." The brandy bottle is two-thirds full. Both of us are warm and easy on the alcohol, but neither of us are drunk.

As soon as Laurent takes his leave, I find myself outside Bella's door. I press my ear to it, but all I can hear are the sweet tones of someone singing, punctuated by an occasional quiet groan.

I cannot help myself. I knock.

I hear a sigh, and the rustle of a dress, and the door opens narrowly.

"Yes?"

I almost retort that the woman should at least use my title when addressing me in my own home, but a groan from Bella snaps me back to reality.

"Can I come in?"

"No Sir, I don't think that's proper. She'll be some time yet. You are letting out the warm air."

The room is very warm now, I notice.

"I care tuppence for proper, Mrs Tyler, and you know it. Please? Just for a moment. I need to see for myself..."

Another quiet groan distracts me, and the midwife's face softens.

"Come on then. She won't take no notice of thee, mark my words."

Dressed only in a loose petticoat, Bella kneels at the foot of the bed, grasping on to the bed post, and rocking gently back and forth.

I squat down next to her.

"Darling? How are you?" My tone is very gentle.

Bella turns glassy eyes towards me and smiles. "Good. It's good. I am very goo -oh! Oooohhh..." She trails off and begins to rock again.

"Can I do anything for you?" I attempt to rub her shoulder, but she pulls away from me. I get no further response.

The midwife taps me on the shoulder. "Go on, be off with you Sir. She's doing a grand job. She'll be fine. We'll fetch thee."

As she speaks, she urges me back towards the door, and I am through it with the door closed in my face before I can react.

Helpless. So damn helpless.

I lean my head against the door and listen for a while – until I hear Leah's footsteps approaching, that is, and I feel foolish. I walk away quickly, but not before seeing the armfuls of linen she carries.

What on God's green Earth is all that for?

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I have never known a longer, more tedious stretch of time. Not even listening to a roomful of boys reciting the Kings and Queens of England at age nine took as long a time as this.

I cannot eat. I cannot write. Reading is futile, and conversation is pointless, because the only topic in my head is what is happening in Bella's room this minute.

Not that I have anyone to talk to. Not really.

I refuse to sleep.

I smoke a pipe in the library, and stare into the flames of the fire, my thoughts flickering from one idea to the next as fast as the heat consumes the fuel.

I nearly jump out of my skin when Samuels approaches like a thief at midnight.

He bows. "My Lord, your presence is requested upstairs."

Is that an actual smile on Samuel's face?

It takes a few seconds for the request to penetrate. Then I am up, on my feet and out of the room before he can take it back.

I leap up the stairs, two or three at a time, almost tripping once again when I reach the top.

I knock on the door, and this time I am greeted by the sweetest voice I ever recall hearing.

"Come in."

There she is.

She is in bed, tucked up in a clean nightgown, hair loosely brushed away from her face.

She looks – well, to be frank, she looks the way she does after she loses herself in our marital bed.

Radiant.

I take a seat next to her, and raise her hand to my lips.

"My Darling." This erudite sentence is all I can say.

She smiles, and brings my hand with hers to press against her cheek. I bend to kiss her forehead, breathing in her glorious scent.

"Do you want to hold him?"

"I beg your pardon?" I murmur, still staring at her lovely face.

"The baby. Do you want to hold him?"

It suddenly occurs to me that the bundle of material in her other arm is – my God.

A baby.

Our baby.

"Him?"

She laughs, the happiest sound I ever heard.

"Edward Jasper. Here he is. He's small – they think he was a little early. But, oh, Edward – he's perfect."

"You are perfect, Isabella Masen. My darling wife – you are perfect."

And I bend to kiss her lips.

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_5th January 1796_

"Do you recall what you were doing this time last year?"

The three of us, EJ, Bella and myself, are snuggled into bed together while a storm batters the windows outside.

My son is in the crook of my arm, looking ridiculously small there. He has a head full of red-gold hair, which Mrs C assures me will fall out in time, to be replaced by another colour. Probably one closer to my own.

He snuffles his tiny head towards me, searching for a nipple. Bella giggles, and holds out her hands for him.

She loves breastfeeding, even though she tells me it is very painful at first. She refused a wet nurse from the beginning.

I watch as she settles EJ at her luscious breast, holding her breath and biting her lip against the pain.

"Why do you enjoy that, Bella? I cannot see the appeal." I have no idea why, but when I see her flinch like that, I feel a phantom pain in my bollocks. It makes me shift uncomfortably.

"I am told the pain will go. Truly, this is nothing in comparison..." She trails off.

I presume she is comparing it to her labour.

I wish I were a painter. I want to capture for all eternity the image of my exquisitely beautiful wife nurturing our son at her breast. What greater art could there be?

I return to my previous question. "Well? Do you recall what you were doing a year ago today?"

"Umm... What is the date?"

"The fifth of January."

She tries to remember, but I can see that she is distracted. No wonder.

"I recall what _I_ was doing with great clarity. I was much the worse for wear, and my dastardly cousin hauled me out of his house far too early in the morning to go riding across the hills. Do you remember now?"

She smiles softly at me. "My rather annoying sister hauled me out of the house that morning too, did she not? I recall complaining all the way up the hill, until I was struck dumb by a dashing hero on horse back."

I wriggle my eyebrows at her. "Dashing hero, eh?"

"Oh yes. I was quite swept off my feet."

"And I recall meeting a vision of loveliness that evaporated my bad mood in an instant."

"A vision? I am sure I was a vision, but not of loveliness." She chuckles, as though such a fancy were improbable.

I roll my eyes.

"You were a vision of loveliness then, but look at you now. Spectacular beauty such as yours ought not be released in public."

She flushes prettily. "Edward, stop your flattery. It is all for naught – you cannot approach me within the length of a barge pole, as well you know. It still hurts down there."

"Bella! First of all, I am not flattering you. I speak only truth, as _you_ well know. And secondly, I have no desire to hurt your poor, bruised sex which so gallantly squeezed out this bonny son of ours. Allow me some credit, Wench." I tweak her nose gently, which makes her laugh.

Her laughter pops her nipple out of EJ's mouth, making him cry.

"Don't cry, little boy, she has another. Count yourself lucky, young man. Those nipples used to be mine."

Bella turns him around and settles him on the other side. "They still belong to you, Edward. EJ is merely borrowing them."

"Good. I shall hold you to that promise."

We are silent and thoughtful for some time. Well, we are silent, but EJ is quite a noisy eater.

Eventually he falls asleep, and Bella moves him to her shoulder, rubbing his back gently.

I am in awe of her mothering skills already. They come so naturally to her.

"It has been an extraordinary year, has it not?" She looks almost wistful.

"Yes, it has." I recall all the events that have occurred in the space of our short acquaintance. For some lives, the highs and lows we experienced would take decades, rather than months. "Do you know, I think I have experienced every single emotion in man's repertoire in the last twelvemonth?"

"Excitement, joy, fear..."

"Hope, love, agony..."

"Desire...fulfilment." She peeks at me through her lashes saucily.

"Yes, definitely those."

"Anger; disgust; horror." She frowns.

"Those too, sadly. But do you know what the best feeling is? The emotion that courses through my veins right this very moment?"

"No – tell me." She does not want to even attempt a guess.

Very well; I will not tease her. I kiss the apple of her cheek.

"Contentment. I had no idea what a wonderful emotion contentment was – until now."

She sighs, and cuddles up to my side, placing our sleeping son back in my other arm.

"You are quite right, husband. Contentment is a blissful luxury, to be savoured above all things."

"I knew you would agree with me. That is why I married you."

She snorts a little laugh. "You married me for..." She looks up at me in confusion. "Actually, Edward, why did you marry me?"

I know the answer to this question immediately, though I haven't thought of it before.

"Because you are my destiny; and I am yours. There is no question."

She is silent for a short time. When she speaks, it is with the finality of someone who wishes to end a conversation and go to sleep.

"You are quite right, Edward. As always."

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"Bella?"

"Hmmm?"

"My arm is wet."

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_**Bless him. **_

_**Gentle Reader, how far ahead in time would you like your epilogue to be? 5 years? Ten? Thirty? I can't make my mind up. Please help me. I don't know whether I will post it in a fortnight or sooner, it depends when I write it.**_

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_**A little while ago, I recced the story High Fidelity here. I have enormous respect for the author, and in her last update she posted some information about Peace One Day – September 21st. She asked us to help her to raise awareness about this event. I will admit that my inner cynic found it hard to believe that one day of peace awareness would influence any government to slow down, let alone stop a war; but when I went to the site I realised that Peace Day is not only about war.**_

_**One of the areas of focus is domestic violence. As you know, this is a topic close to my heart, and if one day of the year can be spent talking about violence and revealing its **__**prevalence, then I would dearly like to promote this cause. Perhaps you will help me to pass the flag on?**_

_**Help us spread awareness of Peace Day, an annual day of global ceasefire and non-violence.**_

Recognising that fanfiction readers and authors are a huge, connected community, we are encouraging you to use your collective power to make a difference in the world.

The non-profit organisation Peace One Day led the process that resulted in the UN declaring September 21st as Peace Day. Every year, Peace One Day partners with a range of organisations from around the world to raise awareness of the day and to encourage Peace Day activities by all sectors of society, including life-saving activities in the name of peace — things like distribution of humanitarian aid, vaccinations, and trainings that help people improve their lives. Through efforts like this, in 2008, Peace Day marked a 70% reduction in violent incidents in Afghanistan. Ceasefire agreements by all parties to conflict in the country, including the Taliban, resulted in millions of children being vaccinated because health and aid workers were able to travel without fear for their lives.

This year, Peace One Day is working to see the largest global reduction of violence, and the largest gathering of individuals in the name of peace, on one day – Peace Day 2012. The Global Truce 2012 campaign will set an important marker for future Peace Days and reinforce the value of this unique annual day as a foundation for long-term sustainable peace.

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	29. Chapter 28 Epilogue Hereto I Plight Thee

_**Gentle Readers,**_

_**What is the purpose of an epilogue? It seems a little indulgent; in this fandom, we want to know that the HEA is real. It isn't enough for us to accept that happiness will follow from the final chapter – we want to be shown that it has.**_

_**When I sat down to write this, I was nervous. I thought that the epilogue ought to be epic in some way, because it's the last thing you read. The impression you take away from it is what will linger in your mind. But then I thought about my story, which is about life and marriage and family, and I realised that none of those things are epic. They are the opposite, in fact – mundane, usual and common. That is what I want to express in describing Edward and Bella's HEA – the glory and agony hidden in the everyday.**_

_**For this reason, this epilogue is dedicated to MM's grandmother, who passed away this summer at the age of 93. Mother of five beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girls, this extraordinary woman excelled at normality. Matriarch by default, her clan spans the globe, and each member of it espouses her values in some form: family matters; treat others as you wish to be treated; appreciate what you have; never, as long as you draw breath, stop living.**_

_**Sometimes life is hard; sometimes it's easy. Walk with me into a snapshot of ease in Edward and Bella's future, and our past...**_

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**Epilogue – Hereto I Plight Thee My Troth**

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_5th April 1805_

"Why did you kiss Esmerelda?"

My son sounds so affronted. I glance at Jasper, sitting in front of the fire in the other large, wing-backed chair. We are obviously hidden from the boys' view, and as we were so quiet when they entered the library, they do not know we are here.

Jasper looks as amused as I feel. On hearing his son Carlisle's response, he bites his knuckle to stop himself from revealing our unintended eavesdropping.

"Because she's a pretty girl. In the islands, that is how we show a girl she is pretty. Do you not kiss pretty girls here?"

"Yuck! Carlisle, Esmerelda is my cousin. Yuckity yuck!"

"I suppose she is my cousin too." There is a pause. "No matter. She is still a pretty girl. Anyway, it was only a peck on the cheek."

"She is older than you."

"So are you, but I like you well enough. Where is the atlas?"

They chatter on as they retrieve the heavy book, and search it for the sea route from St Lucia to Bournemouth – a highly dangerous journey, and one I am thankful my brother and his family survived without incident.

"Gosh, Carlisle, you came a long way. Did you get seasick?"

"Only at first. Mama was very sick, but Papa didn't get sick at all. Once, Mama's sick was green."

"Aaahhh! Ha, ha – was it really green?"

"Yes, it was so disgusting. Poor Mama. It was very funny though. Don't tell Papa I laughed, will you? Mama was cross, but she was cross all the way here anyway."

Jasper rolls his eyes next to me.

"Why was she cross? Didn't she want to come and see my Mama? We've been waiting _aaages_ for you to come." EJ elongates the word 'ages' as only a nine year-old can – I suppose the time did seem endless to him.

Carlisle's matter-of-fact response belies the hurtful subject it conveys. "She didn't want to leave her babies in the ground at home, all on their own. She told my Papa that he could come to England without her, and they had a huge fight. I had to put my hands over Sarah's ears. But my Papa put his foot down."

I look at Jasper with sympathy. He has covered his eyes with his hand. I am certain he had no wish for his children to have witnessed the acrimony between he and Alice. I daresay he is as heartbroken as his wife at having to leave the graves of their two youngest children behind, both having succumbed to a fatal fever within days of one another, a year or so ago.

He was right to have done so. A father has to put the needs of his living children first. And much as I can understand Alice's pain, I know that Jasper was acting as a husband ought.

"I like your father. He seems nice." Ever the diplomat, EJ steers the conversation with his cousin to happier waters. Good lad.

"I like yours too. I thought I would be scared of him, but he is not frightening at all."

I smile at this revelation. Who wouldn't?

"Your Mama is very pretty." Carlisle certainly seems to have an eye for the ladies.

"Are you going to kiss her too?" EJ convulses with laughter at this thought, and Carlisle's throaty giggles soon accompany him.

"No! Your Papa might challenge me to a duel!"

"Like this. En guarde!"

"En guarde!"

They play wildly for a time, as two little boys are wont to do. Eventually their horseplay leads to slight injury – it is inevitable, I have discovered. I wonder which of us will reveal our position first, and suspect it will be Jasper, as it is his son who is left winded and gasping.

Luckily, the children seem to recover so quickly, our intervention is neither required nor effected.

"Oof," moans little Carlisle. "That was fun. I hope I don't get sick."

"Would it be green if you did?"

"No! I hate to be sick. It was horrible on the ship at first, it went up and down, up and dooooown, uuuuuppp and down..." His imitation of a ship at sea almost makes me feel seasick in sympathy.

"Admiral Nelson still gets seasick. He says there is no shame in it."

"Oh, what? Have you met him?" Carlisle's hero worship may rival my own son's.

"Yes! Papa took me to meet him at a party in London. He signed my book! I have his portrait in my room. Do you want to see? He is such a nice man, and so very brave..."

The boys run off together, and Jasper and I visibly relax.

"You took him to meet Nelson? What did Bella have to say about that?"

I laugh. "It was her idea. Did you ever meet the family? He grew up not far from here. I know his father quite well. Bella clearly does not approve of Nelson's treatment of his wife, but she admits he has a talent for protecting England's sovereignty. She indulges EJ's obsession with the man, as long as I frequently remind him of the qualities of a good husband."

"She is an amazing woman, your wife."

"That she is." I smile at the mere thought of her. "What about Alice? Will she forgive you, do you think?"

Jasper sighs. "I have hope that Bella and Rose will instil some sense into her. Honestly, Edward, what could I do? Blast that Napoleon, and his damned navy. It really has not been safe to remain in St Lucia for some time, but now that England's own shores are threatened – we _had_ to come home. It was now or never. I do not mind telling you, I was terrified the whole journey over here."

"And I do not blame you, Brother. We prayed for your safe return every night of your voyage."

There is a pause, as we stare into the flames of the fire.

"Alice is with child again, you know."

I smile at him. "I suspected as much. Congratulations, Jasper."

He returns my smile wanly.

I reach over and clasp his shoulder. "It's so good to gave you home, you and Alice. Carlisle and Sarah are delightful. You have done a great job, Brother, and we have truly missed you."

"Thank you, Edward. Despite everything, it is so good to be home."

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_6th April 1805_

"Mmm. Good morning, Edward. Mmm."

I kiss her neck, breathing in her familiar, perfect scent. "Good morning, Isabella. Do you know what the date is?"

My tongue reaches out to lick the tasty join between her neck and shoulder, an act that never fails to induce a delicious shudder throughout her body.

"April the 6th, in the year 1805," she whispers.

I kiss across her shoulder, occasionally nipping her flesh gently with my teeth.

"Do you know what that means?" I ask.

I run my hand down her body until I reach the lace at the edge of her nightgown, bunching it with my fingers. I draw the material up her thigh until her bare leg is exposed to the cool morning air.

"No, Sir, I do not. What does it mean?" She shifts her hips as she speaks archly, so that the gown bypasses her bottom and rides up her back, exposing her pretty, creamy flesh.

"It means that we married ten years ago this day."

Her nightgown bunches again, below her breasts. I sit so that I may assist her in its removal. I nudge her this way and that, until she is naked and displayed wantonly for her husband's perusal.

She smiles at me as I gaze lovingly at her.

"Do you recall our first night together?"

"Of course. How could I not? I was so nervous, and you were so gentle and kind."

Her body has changed since then. Two births and one miscarriage leave subtle scars upon her person. Her hips and belly are lined with faint marks that feel both smooth and ridged beneath my fingers. Her breasts and belly are softer than they once were; her nipples slightly larger and – I am almost certain – a darker colour. Even the lips of her sex are different: thinner, somehow, though still exquisite.

I love how our life together is painted on her very flesh.

I bend forward and kiss her belly. She wriggles beneath me to show me where she wants me – lower.

"Have patience, my Love."

She stills, then lifts her hands to stroke lovingly through my hair. "This needs a trim, Lord Masen."

I grin at her domestic distraction. "Will you be so good as to cut it then, my Lady?"

"Of course Sir. Name the time and date – I am at your disposal."

"Indeed you are – stretched out naked upon my bed. What a fortunate man I am."

She agrees with a happy smile.

I shift towards her feet. "I seem to recall beginning our marital relations with an exploration of your toes." Lifting a foot to my mouth, I contemplate where to start. Her second toe looks particularly tasty. I suck it into my mouth and nip, eliciting a quiet shriek.

"Edward Masen, I declare, there are areas of my body more eager for your tongue than my toes. Why do you tease me so?"

I give her my best crooked smile. "Because you are my wife." I cock my head to one side. "And I love you."

What other explanation do I need?

I take pity on her, and pull her legs suddenly very wide apart. There is my heaven, dark pink under lightly glistening curls – a place so fine, and it belongs to me entirely. I lower my head to kiss her there, and she lifts her hips in offer to my generous mouth.

Somehow she does not care how long I tease her here. She writhes and bucks and stills again, until my thrusting tongue tips the balance, and she falls beautifully into her pleasure.

With great satisfaction, I move up her body to suckle at her breast, while my cock seeks out her wet sex.

Still moaning with her release, she accepts me eagerly, thrusting back at me until we find our usual rhythm. Her legs clasp behind my back, while her hands grip my shoulders. I try to slow our pace, but she is too eager, and cries out my name as she releases a second time.

Finally, I am in control again, and her pants become gentle '_oh's_ of relief. I draw in and out of her slowly, prolonging the pleasure as long as I can. We stare lovingly at each other as I take her, and time ceases to feature in my awareness.

I am as lost in her eyes as I am in her body. Every time I push into her, some instinct makes me want to push again, so I withdraw and slide back, time upon time. I do not know what trigger pushes me over the edge at last; but when the excitement builds to a point from which there is no return, I kiss her soft lips, entering her mouth with my tongue as my seed shoots into her womb below. I growl at the intense sensation, and clasp her to me tightly, as she clings back to me.

"Thank God I married you, Bella. Thank God you agreed to be mine." I kiss the tip of her nose. "Best decision I ever made."

"Mmm," she agrees. "Mmm."

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"I suppose an outdoor picnic in April was out of the question," says Rose as she happily settles her ample bottom onto a pile of cushions in the orangery. "But this is more fun, and much warmer."

An indoor picnic to celebrate our wedding anniversary, as well as the gathering of our entire extended family for the first time in many years, was my wife's idea. She is a wise woman.

There are children everywhere.

EJ and little Beth have organised their cousins into a game of blind man's bluff. The youngest Cullen, Simeon, is desperate to join in, though his wobbly little legs have only recently mastered walking. Ruthie is on Esmerelda's hip, and their brothers, Toby and William, run rings around Carlisle, who has gamely agreed to be first in the blindfold. Sarah is pouting because she does not understand the rules, and really wanted to play oranges and lemons instead.

Genevieve has her hands over her ears, but she does not disrupt the camaraderie. Her nurse, whose name I have forgotten in the tumult of nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, ignores her entirely. I wonder how long this one will last – hopefully, for Em's sake, it will be longer than the previous three.

"My father would have hated this," says Bella, swiftly moving a potted plant out of the line of the blind man's fire.

"Oh yes, he would be apoplectic by now, would he not?" Alice agrees, laughing pleasantly with Bella and Rose. "Do you think Wren misses him? It is so strange to see her without him."

"Yes," say Bella and Rose simultaneously.

Rose continues, "It has been – what, seven years now since the tumour took Father? Eight, perhaps? And every day since then, Mother has asked first for him, then Mr Black. He, unfortunately, is still alive Alice, in case you were wondering. He never did regain the use of his legs. Edward has seen him on occasion, is that not right Bella?"

"Yes, Father left some very complicated financial wrangles behind, which I do not pretend to understand. Suffice it to say he spent a great deal more than he had, and we can only think it was in revenge against Mr Black, in whose name the debts ultimately lay. Poor Edward was left to sort it out, but it is the least we can do, as Mother refuses to live with us, and Rose and

Em have all the bother of her."

"Well, I hope Mr Black is sincerely miserable as a cripple," declares Alice, reaching across Rose to stroke Ruthie's hair, who has been unceremoniously dumped upon her mother's lap by a frustrated Esmerelda.

I look at Jasper, smiling indulgently at his wife, and surmise that their marriage has improved overnight. He has the distinct air of a man who has been well-satisfied. I smirk. Even Em looks like a happy man today, and our wives fairly glow with good humour.

Em nudges my shoulder. "I have to show you the new French letter I picked up on our way here. This one is specially fitted. It will not tear like the others did," he says in a low voice.

I shake my head. "It is still constructed from lamb's intestine, is it not? What makes you think this one will give you any more protection than the last?"

My cousin spends his life seeking a device that will prevent yet another addition to his large family. Nothing he has tried has been successful.

"Yes, but this time, I gave them the measurements of my length and girth, and they have actually made one big enough for me!"

He looks triumphant. I hate to dissolve his good humour, but by the looks of his wife, and by what Bella confided in me last night, he is already too late. I strongly suspect Alice and Rose will give birth at the same time. Rosalie is a little scared to let her husband know. Poor Em.

"How do _you_ manage, anyway? Why do you not have twenty little children running around your feet? I happen to know for a fact that you and Bella indulge yourselves at least as often as Rose and I."

I turn to Em and raise my eyebrows at him. "Really, Cousin? Who talks to you about my private marital relations?"

"Bella talks to Rose, and Rose tells me. Do not look at me in that manner – you have no idea what those sisters discuss. It is not I who would shock you, if you knew!"

I cannot believe we are having this conversation in a room packed to the brim with women and children. Our voices are very low, but still.

"If you must know, Bella's womb was damaged when Elizabeth was born. It was frightening at the time, terrifying in fact. We almost lost her – Bella, I mean, not Beth. Well, Beth too, actually. But once she regained her health, we realised that perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, as she has not fallen since."

"Humph. I see." He looks thoughtful. "Well, if you ever want any more children, you can have some of mine. I have plenty to go around." He laughs, and claps me on the shoulder. Then he leans even closer and whispers: "I think Jasper and Alice are well on their way to increasing the family quota." He winks conspiratorially at me.

Poor Em.

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Back in bed at the end of a long and boisterous day, Bella looks content.

"Seth and Gillian marry next week."

"I know." I smile indulgently at her, and smooth away the stubborn strand of hair that always attempts to conceal her eyes from me.

"Jasper can marry them. I am so pleased he and Alice are here. I was so worried about them."

"I know."

She shifts on to her hip and gazes at me with her big, brown eyes. "You are very quiet tonight. Are you all right?"

"Yes. I am more than all right, Bella." I recall my conversation with Em earlier. "Do you tell your sisters everything?"

She flushes. "Er – what do you mean?"

I take her response to mean yes. "I was referring to a conversation I had with my cousin today. If you were able to talk to them right now, while lying in bed with me, what would you say?"

I do not know why this matters to me, but I feel a little unsettled by the knowledge that our intimacy has been discussed.

My wife smiles sweetly at me. "I would tell them how handsome I think you are. How warm and kind and loving the look in your eyes; how indulgent of me you are. How, even after ten years, looking at you excites me like the young girl I once was. And I would tell them how very, very happy I am."

"Really, Lady Masen? You would tell them all that?"

She nods.

"What about you, Edward? If you could talk to your brothers this minute, without removing yourself from my side, what would you say?"

I pretend to consider this seriously for a while, my finger on my chin.

"I would tell them my wife is a minx," I say suddenly, and roll on top of her, my fingers unerringly making their way to her ticklish places. When I see she cannot breathe, I roll us to our sides, and continue to torment her happily.

I will cherish her always; and I will keep her in her place – if not beneath me, then right next to me.

Forever will not be time enough.

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_**Your support has been tremendous.**_

_**I set out at the beginning to learn, and I have learned so, so much. Heartfelt thanks to **_**all****_ of you Gentle Readers and others who helped me along the way, especially Cared, without whom you probably wouldn't be reading this at all. She is fantabulous._**

_**(In case you are wondering, MM's thank you is within the chapter itself).**_

_**The aspect of writing fanfiction I have enjoyed the most has been the conversations I have had with so many thoughtful, intelligent, generous readers. I hope you will continue to talk to me when I write the fluff and nonsense I want to indulge in for a while. I love Twific, but I also intend to use what I have learned to attempt an ambitious original fiction, which may or may not see the light of day. I owe it to my family to try, and I have the setting – a dystopian future – and the characters – a family similar to the Cullens, but not – and the plot – angst driven by hope – in my head. Perhaps you will remember me when I finish it. In the meantime, every little plot bunny that runs around in my mind may find it into my profile here on Fanfiction dot net, and I hope to see you back.**_

_**You may ask, so I am answering here: there will be no sequel to Plight Thee My Troth, and I can't imagine writing any outtakes. Lots of you told me you don't normally read historical fics, and I admit that I won't normally write any – Plight Thee was an exception. The fact is, the time it takes to research added to the time it takes to write leads to an imbalance of priorities. That stupid washing doesn't do itself, darn it. Unless anyone is offering? LOL.**_

_**For those of you who love historical fic, and those who just like good fic, whatever the genre, please try Emmamama88's Wrap You In My Arms, a fic full of light, joy and sweetness: /s/8045590/1/Wrap-You-In-My-Arms (sorry about my review fail, Hon – I adored your story); and anything by the superbly talented Counselor /u/2130754/counselor.**_

_**Catch me on Twitter - Gingerandgreen.**_

_**Challenge violence and injustice when you see it. Thanks, **_

_**Gingerandgreen xxx**_


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